


sword & shield.

by AlwaysInSonder



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BBC Bodyguard not the Whitney Houston one, Bodyguard AU, F/M, Rated N for Nadia, Suggestive Themes, This somehow turned into a bodice ripper lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysInSonder/pseuds/AlwaysInSonder
Summary: "So," she drags a stool to sit across him, her chin resting on her hand. "What caused your demotion?" The question makes him abruptly sit up, looking at her with surprise. She smirks at him and takes a sip of her wine, giving him a wink. "You have to give me credit, Lance. I did code the database infrastructure for the Celestial Intelligence Force. It's not that hard for me to pull up information on anyone in the facility."He thinks quietly for several moments, unsure of what to say without breaking any non-disclosure protocols. He knows his case file is sealed and with the extra politics involved, it's unlikely that he is ever going to be reinstated to his position any time soon. If it weren’t for Shiro’s intervention, he's sure he’d be deskbound in some backoffice, organising paperwork from the previous century. He belongs out in the field, doing what he does best; protecting the innocent.“Failure to listen to orders,” he finally admits, looking to her with a wry smile. “I hope this doesn’t make you feel unsafe with me.”orLance goes from being a star sniper, to a bodyguard of a mysterious woman he's not seen since his days as a cadet.
Relationships: Lance/Pidge (Voltron), Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 55
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive shout out to RosieClark who went above and beyond as both a beta and a muse. The original draft looks like a joke without her amazing help and input! Thanks girl!

He hears nothing but the sound of his own breaths, each one gasping and excruciating, sending sharp stabs of pain down his spine. His back is bust, he is sure, but he’s not concerned about it in the slightest. He cannot see her, hear her,  _ sense  _ her…and it terrifies him.

There’s the crunch of broken glass when he rolls to his side and he winces as he pulls himself upright. His muscles protest, and feel as though they are being torn to shreds as he strains to keep himself upright. It’s smoky around him, he realizes as his vision clears. There’s the taste of iron and smoke accompanied by the sharp smell of chemicals clinging to the air, suffocating him. 

His only responsibility was to keep her out of danger’s way and he failed spectacularly. He pushes himself to the side, trying his hardest to squint through the dusty haze. His hearing returns like a shockwave and his head fills with frantic screams and shouts. He ignores them, willing his eyes to see through the dust even as they fill with tears. 

His eyes finally focus on a slumped figure in the distance and his heart races. His legs refuse to move no matter how much he strains, and he feels tears of frustration prick in the corners of his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he crawls towards the figure, ignoring the stabbing pain in his back and the shards of glass that pierce his skin with every pull. In the distance, he hears the faint wails of the ambulance.

With each inch conquered, the fright that grips his heart grows tighter. Even when covered in dust and plaster, the amber hues in her hair are distinct.

It is her.

“Pidge…” he breathes, his arm flinging over her limp body. There is no time for decorum. He only wants her to be alive. Her eyes are closed, but her skin is still warm to the touch and alone gives him the smallest shred of hope. His hand shakes as he lifts it, resting it gingerly on her neck. His fingers desperately search for a pulse and his chest begins to heave painfully with his sobs until…he feels it. Faint, but palpable against his index finger.

His body slumps next to hers, drenched with relief. She’s alive. He dares not move her, not when he doesn’t know what her injuries are, not when it’s her life at risk.

* * *

_ One year prior _

His arm is stretched out, his muscles tense, his breath held. Slowly, he exhales and his forefinger teases over the curve of the trigger. An inhale, and he gives a gentle squeeze.

He makes three successive shots before he relaxes his body, pushing up his protective eye wear and squinting at the target boards.

"Twice in the heart and once in the head?" Hunk sighs in exasperation. "Ya know in your new job, lethal hits like that are  _ kinda _ frowned upon."

"I know," Lance gives a backward glance to make sure the female trainees were still watching him. He flashes a coy smile over his shoulder as he reloads. "But ladies love a sharpshooter."

He doesn't have to look up to know that his best friend is rolling his eyes at him.

With a wink to his transfixed audience, he turns his attention back to the target and fires, hitting his mark with astounding precision.

"You can’t flout the rules this time." Hunk shakes his head with a disapproving frown. "You know how Griffin's like. He’ll be merciless."

Lance ignores him and continues down the line, hitting his targets effortlessly and with a laser-like precision, the soft squeals and excited hushed whispers behind him fuelling him on. As he stood before the last target on the training line, he lifts his arm once more, waiting for a hush settle behind him before firing his signature pattern. He smirks to himself and lowers his arm, turning in the direction of his audience, awaiting their adoring praise, only to find none.

The trainees had quietly dispersed, either back to their respective training simulations or, back to the work bench where they sat heads bowed, disassembling and reassembling rifles in the corner of the training grounds. In their place, stood the imposing and unfortunately familiar figure of Agent James Griffin.   
  
He has the dark hair and soft brown eyes that had no doubt wooed the hearts of many, but his gaze is coldly trained on Lance. His dark, charcoal suit is tailored immaculately over his broad shoulders and Lance quickly realises that the excited gasps he heard earlier weren't over his talent. He had to admit, with his cheekbones and physique, the man could fall back on a career in modelling if he so wished.

"I'm assuming you're the new hire," his voice drips with disdain and Lance immediately understands why Veronica hates him so. "Quite the impressive display you've put out here. But I hope you realise that your new job description rarely requires you to kill. If anything, there’s a higher chance, if I may be frank, of you  _ getting  _ killed.”

He could hear Hunk - who is a full foot taller than the man, but is nonetheless visibly intimidated - gulp and resists the urge to sass. It was the one thing Veronica had made him swear not to do in front of his new boss.

"I also hope you understand that you will be protecting one of the most important people on this planet..." Great, a lecture this early in the day? He'd thought he had left those days behind with the Academy. He jumps when his gaze returns to Griffin, who now stands only a few inches from his own face. "Tell me, does your need for flamboyance outweigh your dedication to your charge?"

"N-No?" he sputters. Hunk pokes his ribs and Lance quickly adds "Sir".

"You come highly recommended," Griffin squints at him, eyes travelling down his pressed shirt, all the way to his dress shoes. Lance holds his breath, willing himself not to squirm. "Agent Shirogane swears you're one of the best, I will trust his word."

_ But not you _ . The unspoken words hang heavily between them.

"We have assigned you to your principal. I trust you've read her file?" Griffin's eyes grow steely as he says the words and Lance senses that there's more to the man than he lets on. His charge is a controversial figure, one he was even briefly acquainted with as a cadet. Dr Katerina Holt, of Holt Industries fame. The last surviving member of the Holt family and a notoriously eccentric, but genius inventor. "Her life will be in your hands," Griffin continues with an unwavering stare. It’s amusing to Lance how even as an adult, James fails miserably to look intimidating with his boyish good looks. "You will be both her sword and her shield. Her life will always be above yours. Your body is no longer your own, it is hers. Do you understand?"

It takes everything in him to not roll his eyes. For a man close to his age, Griffin's tenacity reads as arrogance. "I know the duties of a bodyguard, Sir," he considers it an achievement that he hasn't burst out laughing nor delivered the line without the slightest hint of condescension.

A brow lifts and Lance's bravado wavers. James takes a step closer to him and Lance does his best not to flinch as he speaks. "If I had things done on my terms, I would _never_ have let someone like you near her. She requires the highest standard of protection. Her enemies are unparalleled for a civilian and she demands the professionalism of an _elite_ agent."

Lance blinks, but does not allow himself to quiver in fear before him. They are also similar in height, which allows him to stare just as boldly back, but Lance knows his limits enough to know that talking back won’t get him anywhere.

"So," Griffin says stiffly. "Are you that agent?"

"Yes Sir."

Agent Griffin inspects him for a moment, as though to see if he will wince, flinch or show the slightest sign of weakness and then suspend him right then and there, but he finally- to Lance’s great relief - steps back.

"Also," Griffin inhales sharply, before continuing. "You should know you are her fifteenth agent."

Lance pales. Hunks carefully clears his throat and speaks up for the first time. "If I can ask...did the other fourteen...die?"

"No.” Griffin turned his back on them. “They all resigned."

* * *

Lance has spent most of his life dedicated to serving the Galaxy Garrison. Since his recruitment as a cadet at the tender age of twelve, to being a celestial special forces agent, to now, working as a simple bodyguard, his life has revolved around the institution.    


But this is a corner of the Garrison he has never seen before. He had heard tales about it from his sister, who used to work as an analyst fresh out of college. But even so, the Olkarion-Earth Institute was still shrouded in secrecy. He had heard the rumors of course, that half the researchers were a genius alien race from a distant galaxy; that unethical experiments on alien criminals took place in the basements or even that the brain behind it all, Dr Holt herself, was not even human. 

As he walks through the stark white halls of the research facility, he finds his eyes wandering out of morbid curiosity. His sister had told him it wasn’t nearly as scandalous as others think it to be, but that it is very much a place of wonder that was thought to only exist in the human imagination. The Holts played a huge hand in making those fantasies a reality.

It is no exaggeration. In all his twenty-seven years, he had never seen such a greater shift in the quality of life on Earth. It was said to be the second Renaissance, or a Revolution, he did not know the difference. What he does know is, instead of taking a seven hour flight home to Cuba, he now only needs a portal and he will be home in a mere fifteen minutes. Any broken bones he sustained in his old job, can be fully healed in a matter of hours. And to think, he'd be guarding the life of the woman who'd played a part in making science fiction a reality.

Very little is known about the enigmatic Dr Holt; other than that she comes from a family where the genius runs in the blood. The few times he's seen her on television, or from a long-distance away at the Garrison Academy, he could only see an ordinary woman; nibbling distractedly on her lunch as she read a book alone, sitting on the edge of the roof to look up at the stars or even casting a glare his way whenever he offered a cheerful greeting. There were rumours of her tantrums, eclectic tendencies and other outlandish tall tales befitting of that of a comic book villain. But when he was a boy, all he saw was another girl who loves science, space and her privacy.

There were also rumors of a thirst for knowledge so relentless, she had her own brother killed in one of her experiments.

Lance gulps. He particularly hopes that last rumour was not true.

He almost walks right into James's back as the man halts before a door. After passing through many,  _ many _ biometric door locks, the bright white walls had given way to frosted glass and surrounding them, were labs. James has stopped before the biggest door in the centre of the massive hallway, staring intently at the name neatly printed in block letters on the door. 

_ Dr. Katerina Holt _

_ Director of Research and Development _

"Do not speak unless spoken to," James speaks up suddenly, still not facing him. "If she requests privacy, give her so, but never leave her sight. You must always have access to her at all times." 

"Even if she's showering?" Lance quips, forcing a neutral face as James turns to give him a cold, unamused glare. 

"After you've done a perimeter check and securely enclose all points of entry, you  _ will _ give her privacy." 

"Right, just checking," Lance does well with not smiling. There's a weird lilt to his boss's voice he couldn't quite place. 

James gives him one last pointed glare before turning back to knock sharply on the door. He hears a crash, a few muffled curses and shuffling of papers before hearing a soft "come in!" from the inside.

"Dr Holt?" James enters first, blocking his view. There's shattered glass on the floor and Lance spots a woman crouched on the floor, clumsily sweeping up the shards with two pieces of paper. "Kat- Dr Holt! Let me." 

James stoops down, grabbing the papers from her hands. Their hands touch briefly, and Lance catches a blush on the woman's cheeks as she quickly retracts it. James - one who is usually so coarse and serious - gently chides her and the woman hangs her head quietly, not quite acknowledging him but not quite ignoring him either. 

But the thing that confuses him the most was how frazzled James appears to be. His boss stumbles over his words as he nudges her hands away from the broken glass - an award or some other - and there’s some quiet whispers of getting it fixed for her. Lance suddenly recalls a rumor of Griffin and her dating a few years ago. He had quashed it as soon as it reared. Knowing how much the man is dedicated to his work with his near-relentless professionalism, it could not be true. But with the sight before him, Lance isn't so sure anymore.

James stands up, the shattered remains neatly tied into a handkerchief. He shoots him a final glare and mouths what Lance thinks is something along the line of “behave” and he steps aside to allow his boss to leave. 

The woman finally stands up, brushing off her slacks and her lab coat before she realizes there is another figure in the room with them. 

He’s stunned. She’s a far cry from the bookish little girl from the Academy. Her hair is short as he remembers, but wisps frame her eyes. Her glasses are in her lab pocket, and her owlish amber eyes stare right at him. It’s a blank stare at first and then, her eyes widen as she focuses on him.    


"Dr Holt," he greets with a wide smile, after remembering to breathe. He's determined to not be the archetype Griffin wants him to be. He opens his mouth to say more, but she abruptly turns away from him, seating herself on the large leather armchair behind the massive glass table, pulling on her glasses. It’s a scattered mess of papers, books and various trophies; as if the many accolades that lined her office walls weren’t sufficient. 

But regardless of how much enthusiasm he injects into his demeanour, his new charge barely looks up from her screen and waves him over to the seat before her. Her glasses are illuminated by the lights from her computer, covering her eyes. He wonders if she looks as cold in person as she does in public. Lance waits for a moment before carefully seating himself before her. He could almost  _ feel  _ Griffin’s ghost breathing down his neck, waiting for some protocol violation or some other.

"If you're worried about Griffin's rules, you can rest easy. I don't give a fuck about his rules."

Lance allows himself to smile. This must be the reason why Griffin gets so worked up about her. A rebel after his own heart.. "I'm Agent Serrano. A huge fan of your work," he extends his hand. Her head tilts up for a second to look at him, and he briefly wonders if handshakes fell under "unnecessary physical contact".

"You're awfully cheerful," The woman grumbles under her breath, turning her attention back to her notes. She's seated back against a plush leather seat, legs crossed and her fingers rapidly typing away on her laptop. "I hope it lasts."

Lance feels a cold shiver run up his back as she says it. The short-lived tenures of her previous agents gloom in the back of his mind and he has a sudden appreciation for the  _ "speak only when spoken to" _ rule.

* * *

His first few days consist of shadowing her as she made the rounds in the labs. His contract (and James) forbade him from inspecting the experiments too closely. He has clearance to enter the most secure labs, but only if she was present. Even then, he was to only train his eyes on her, and any potential threats to her life. 

He sourly wonders, considering what had happened to her family, whether experiments gone awry were a possible threat. That went well out of his training and expertise; he was used to human - and of course, alien - threats. 

It is still interesting how she is up close. From the way she speaks to the Olkari, to her fellow Earth scientists and even the most starstruck interns, it's easy to see most of the rumors of her callousness were unfounded. If anything, it is evident that she is well-liked and even held to a degree of reverence.

But Lance is still certain there is more than meets the eye with his new charge. She’s impatient, he notices, with how her fingers tap distractedly against her coffee mug whenever she’s forced to listen to her colleagues lectures, but does well in hiding it. She gets crabby when she's hungry but looks endearingly childlike whenever she sheepishly asks him to eat lunch with her.

She’s frighteningly intelligent - breezing in and out of labs to fix equations on boards, modify machines and do all sorts of things he could barely keep up with. Her genius is no exaggeration, he learns that very quickly. The scant astrophysics he had studied as a cadet did little to help him understand her work. 

But the thing that stands out the most is how much she loves what she does. She approaches each lab with eagerness, excited to delve into whatever new discoveries her colleagues had brought forward. He quickly realizes that there isn’t a discovery that she is not involved in. He’d witnessed her finishing a full mathematical proof in mere minutes when it had puzzled a team for  _ weeks  _ and yet, she had insisted that the researchers not include her name in their paper.

He would then spend nights, sitting across her, watching her work with laser-sharp focus on her projects. Sometimes, she might ask him for his opinion or to test a prototype and he would oblige, cognizant of the fact that he may very well be holding yet another work of wonder that could change the world for the better.

And sometimes, in those moments, their hands would brush briefly and leave his mind reeling and it confuses him to no end. He hadn’t felt this way as a cadet, back when she was still unlike anyone he’s ever met. Why does he seek her approval now?

But as he stalks after her one evening, barely keeping up with her pace and looking after her in wonder, he knows the outside world will never know the real Katerina Holt and it causes him a confusing amount of discomfort that he’s pushed to the back of his mind.

“I know you were drafted to be my full time guard, but you can have the weekend off. Unless you're needed for an engagement of course.” 

It is the first time she’s addressing him directly the entire day and he almost stumbles in his steps in surprise. Lance's brows knitted in confusion and she waves her hand dismissively as she brisk walks down the long hallway leading her back to her office. It’s noticeably quieter in the building as beings of all walks of life have left for the night. Save for the Olkari scientist by the name of Ryner, she had last seen, he is certain they will be the last to leave. 

“But-”

“Don’t worry about Griffin. I'll handle him. Also, I won't dock your pay.”

“I really don’t need a-”

“Oh, it's not for your sake.” She paused before a door, scanning her eye before turning to him with a wry smile. "It's for my own sanity. A woman needs her private time, if you catch my drift.” She says it so dryly, Lance isn’t quite sure if he does. "Get the car, please. I need to be at a meeting."

“...This late?”

Her raised brow makes him wince. _ Never question her affairs, unless it puts her in danger’s way. _ Will there ever come a day where he doesn’t feel like he’s walking in a minefield with her?

* * *

"I hate this job," Lance declares, frowning into his drink. He picks up the glass, inspecting the amber liquid against the light. It reminds him too much of her eyes. Even away from her, she plagues his every thought.

Hunk is silent next to him and Lance turns to him. He's grading papers and one in particular makes him frown - and ignore his agonised best friend. Lance sighs and rests his head in his hands. 

The incident that had led to his and Hunk’s "demotion" is one that he will never forget - nor regret - but he  _ does _ regret not protecting his friend from the aftermath of his own actions. The demotion had hit them both hard and, although Hunk appears to be doing better than ever, he knows his friend misses his old job just as much as he does. 

Lance’s fingers unconsciously reach for his chest where a raised scar runs the length down from his shoulder to his hip. It would twitch at random times, giving him vivid flashbacks of the moment he had received the unpleasant wound. And though it had given him two weeks in intensive care, a good screaming from his sisters and crying from his mother by his healing pod, it was a reminder of perhaps the most noble thing he's ever done.

It's still annoying to be demoted nonetheless.

"Does it hurt still?" Hunk finally looks up, shoving his graded papers back into his briefcase. Lance shakes his head glumly and takes a sip of his drink.

It's odd to think that only five months ago, they were heavily armoured with access to part of the most scientifically advanced arsenal known to mankind. Now, he guards the daughter of the geniuses who had brought about those weapons. There’s a certain irony in that, he thinks. 

"Didn't take you for the harsh type. D for that five page essay? Cold blooded man."

"Well, if he paid attention in class, he would have known to write about the characteristics of the Helix nebula and not fun facts about the Milky Way." Hunk shakes his head and closes his marker with a decisive click. "Trust me dude, you'd hate this job."

Lance mulls on this for a moment, a sudden wave of guilt overcoming him. He bites his lip, still staring at his drink. "I'm sorry. It's my fault-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Lance doesn't have to look up to know that Hunk is glaring at him. It's not the first time he's apologised and neither is it the first time Hunk's rejected it. "Let's change topics. How's Dr Holt been treatin' ya?"

Lance hesitates. There are many things he wants to tell him, but he's bound to her and her ever present need for privacy.

"It's the weirdest thing, man," Lance groans into his drink. “I’m...I’m breathing the same air as someone who’s probably going to be remembered for  _ centuries  _ as this...revolutionary innovator… it’s scary and exciting at the same time.” 

“But?” Hunk prods, leaning closer.

“But...I don’t know. I miss being out in the field. Out in  _ space _ . Sometimes I get so bored sitting around that I wish she would fire me. It'd make it so much easier for me."

“Why, does she hate you?”

“No.”

"Is she being a diva or something?" 

“No!”   


Hunk lifts an eyebrow and turns to him. “Then what is it? Ooh! I forgot to ask, does she remember you?”

Lance bites his lip. “I don’t even know. But I don’t think she does. We barely speak as it is, I doubt she’d remember.” 

His buddy rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “So she’s being difficult?”

“No way. She’s...  _ amazing _ .” Lance sits up suddenly. “She...God there’s so much about her people don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “She’s not who they say she is. She-” He stops when he realizes Hunk is grinning a little too cheerily at him. 

“Well well well. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you got a bit of a crush?” 

Lance nearly chokes on his drink and glares at him. Hunk brushes it off with a hearty laugh. His friend gestures to the general vicinity of the bar they were in, teeming with Garrison officers, many of whom were attractive women. "We've been here for almost an hour and you haven’t hit on a single woman. And here I was worried you were having a tough time at your new job. You’ve just got a crush on your boss. How  _ scandalous _ ! A bodyguard and his charge…” 

Hunk makes kissy noises that makes Lance roll his eyes. He finishes his drink in one swig, wincing as the liquid burns his throat. Just a few weeks dry and it's as if he's never drunk in his life. The bartender replaces his glass with another, but Hunk stops him before he can reach for it.

"I still wish I was in your department," Lance grumbles, staring down his empty glass. It will be a while yet before he could drink comfortably. In a few weeks, he will be following her around the world, visiting the various space agencies like a rockstar on tour. "I'd take yelling at teenagers over...over babysitting an uber successful and beautiful woman who barely talks to me I guess."

“Only because it’s the one woman you want but can’t flirt with,” Hunk teases, nudging his side with an elbow. 

Lance groans and burrows his face into his hands. Maybe there is a sliver of truth in that. He’s used to women fawning over him and he’s had his fair share of admiring stares and excited whispers whenever he walks into a room full of interns. It deflates his ego - and he has to admit, intimidates him - to see a woman so unbothered by his charm. Sure, he’s had women who were more annoyed than flattered, but he’s not used to complete  _ indifference _ . 

"But all jokes aside...you could always get Shiro to transfer you elsewhere.” Hunk slides his drink his way with a sigh. “I’ve heard they needed a new shooting instructor at the Academy. Sounds like something right up your alley.” 

Lance considers it for a moment, looking over at his untouched drink and the amber liquid once more. He’s very aware of the fact that if he had been assigned to any other person, he would have jumped at that very opportunity and resign. 

The only thing he can not understand, is why he wants to stay instead.

* * *

The weeks pass along quick and to Lance’s surprise, his birthday - the next day - will mark three months of being in his position. Shiro tells him it is something of an achievement that none of her previous guards have even come close to.

He wonders what made his predecessors quit so quickly. His charge keeps herself busy and is almost always safely tucked away in an enclosed space that is as heavily guarded as top-secret research bases come. It certainly isn't the case that she gives him a hard time. If anything, he wishes she'd give him  _ more  _ of a hard time, so he could occupy his mind with something other than the shape of her eyes, how  _ adorable _ she looks when she's concentrating so intently, the tiniest sliver of her tongue would stick out between her lips or how small and vulnerable she feels in his arms when he carries her sleeping form to her apartment at the end of long nights.

Tonight will be an exception and, since sighting the slinky blue dress - something he would _never_ have thought she would even own - hung by her door in her office, he finally has something to do; spend the better part of the day wondering what it is giving him painful twist in his stomach. 

His instincts tell him it's a date. Why else would she be all dolled up? Lance watches her fiddle with her hair, sigh and then collapse back in her chair in resignation from the failure to tame her messy locks.

The words fall out of his mouth before he can even think. "May I?"

She tilts her head in confusion his way, but nods. Lance walks to the back of her chair, carefully pulling out the many pins she'd forced into her mane. He runs his fingers through her hair till it's smoothed out, ignoring her slight shiver as his fingers massage her scalp. He carefully parts her hair and begins to braid, carefully pinning flyaways and tucking the plaits into a low, tight chignon. He pulls a few strategic pieces and arranges them so they frame her face elegantly. 

It feels different somehow. It's not the first time he's braided a woman's hair. Granted, braiding the hair of sisters and nieces were a far cry from...from whatever  _ this  _ was. 

When he's done, he pulls out his phone and takes a picture of her hair, showing her the photo.

"Wow," a smile forms and Lance realises it's the first time he's seen her smile. At least, the first genuine, heart-felt smile. "It's beautiful..."

As per his usual self, a flirty compliment emerges, but dies in his throat. He traces his finger lightly over the braids, fashioned into a crown flush against her head. The dim light of her desk lamp brings out the vibrant reddish hues in her hair that makes him think of sunsets. She swivels her chair, looking up at him with such wonder that he nearly loses his breath when she touches his hand lightly as she thanks him shyly.

He's aware a precious few have seen this side of her. More than just an eclectic genius. More than just an 'asset' as so crudely referred to by the facility's security detail and the ground team.

He's also  _ painfully  _ aware - as he turns his body respectfully as she begins to undress - that there will come a time where she will desire to be with someone. Intimately. And it confuses him immensely that the fact bothers him.

"How do I look?"

He takes it as his signal to turn and he almost forgets to breathe when he does. The dress is made of silk and hugs curves he has never seen before. It's not till she bends down to slip on her silver heels, did he realise it's backless. His face burns. His inappropriate dreams of her had new material to work with now.

He quickly moves forward, kneeling before her and helping her tie the delicate ribbons of her heels around her ankle. 

“Thanks, you’re a prince,” she laughs dryly, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance. Lance doesn’t register it; entirely focused on making sure his fingers don’t linger too long on her soft skin. 

When he’s done, he rights himself, giving her a once over. He drags his gaze up and stills when he finds hers trained entirely on him. He realizes then he hasn’t given her an answer.

"You look breathtaking," he answers honestly, not before gulping to hide the quiver in his voice. He abruptly turns away to gather her work bag for her and ushering her out the door. He pretends not to notice the slight droop in her shoulders as he turns away from her and carefully redirected his hand from the small of her very bare back, to her shoulder. 

All of a sudden, his job feels infinitely harder.

* * *

This is not how Lance anticipates the night to go.

The car ride back to her apartment is one that’s filled with a pensive silence; save for the usual and incessant clicks of her laptop keys, as well as poorly disguised soft sniffles. She’s already back on her computer, working away on the next great innovation no doubt, but it bothers him that she seems unaffected by what had transpired. 

She was in a restaurant with another man ground team identifies succinctly as a ‘partner’ and he does not know why he’s still wondering the  _ exact _ nature of the partnership. Whatever it is, she had looked bored and had left after fifteen minutes, not lingering long enough for the servers to pour her glass of wine or take her order. 

He should have picked a closer table so he could listen in on their conversation, but she had requested privacy and he didn’t have the heart to defy her. Instead, he seated himself a few tables away, tracing down the curve of her exposed back with his eyes. He doubted a dress like that was worn for just a “business meeting”.

It took herculean strength not to prod her. Her 'partner' had stalked after her, clearly incensed to have been rejected so unceremoniously and all it took to stop him was for Lance to block his path and discreetly flash his holster. 

“I noticed you haven’t had dinner,” she speaks up suddenly and Lance’s glances up at the rearview mirror. Her laptop was still balanced on her lap and she’s looking intently at him. 

“Neither have you,” he says with a smile to his rearview mirror. He pulls into the underground parking of her apartment complex. The two guards flanking the entrance touch their earpieces. He touches his own. "Blue to Ground Squad, Baby Bird handover request? Over."

_ "Ground to Blue. Affirmative. Over." _

Lance nearly sighs out loud in relief. His work day is finally over. 

“Thanks for the uh- _ intervention _ , by the way,” Pidge says, closing her laptop and packing it into her briefcase. “I need to tell Nadia to stop setting me up with her brother’s finance colleagues.” 

Ah, so it  _ was  _ a date. 

“All part of the job, ma’am,” he answers with a smile, parking into her designated spot. The hum of the car engine’s comes to a halt and they sit quietly in the darkness. 

“Has James given you grief over you taking a week off to see your mother?” He could feel her lean forward and he doesn’t know why her warm breath on his ear stirred odd sensations deep in his belly.

“Not any more than usual,” he replies, loosening his tie and undoing the first two buttons of his shirt to cool himself off. "Besides, you basically commanded me to. Can't ever say no to you, Dr. Holt."

"She was sick, of course you have to see her," she retorts, sitting back. "Is she alright?"

"Healthy as ever ma'am. Thank you for asking," he replies, undoing his seat belt. 

Another silence follows and Lance feels a glimmer of hope that she may open up to him. “I’m sure you have questions about why James is...like _ that _ .” 

His shoulders slump in disappointment but he turns to her and chuckles. “I’ve known him since Academy days. He’s always been... _ that  _ way _. _ We were both-”

“In the Celestial Agents program, I know.” 

“...You remember me?” It surprises him that she remembers him. Or perhaps she’s bothered to read his file. 

There’s a look in her eyes that he could not quite place. It only lasts the briefest of seconds, however, and he’s back to staring at the cold, calculated face of the Director of Research. 

“Of course,” she shifts in her seat. He’s not sure if the dim lights are playing tricks on his eyes, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “I even knew you before that. You were the boy who punched Justin Shaybon for me.” 

Lance blinks for several moments before he bursts out laughing. He does not know how he’d forgotten that already. The incident had earned him two weeks suspension and a good ear twist from Veronica. Sure, his crush at the time, Jenny Shaybon never wanted to breathe the same air as him ever again, but Lance never once regretted it.

“Well, mamá raised a gentleman,” he quips. Gropers stood no chance against him. 

"Clearly," he hears her say, glancing up just in time to see her adjust his coat closer around her shoulders. He leaves the driver’s seat and opens the door for her, waiting expectedly, but she does not budge. 

He leans down in confusion and she flushes, looking out the window. It looks as if she wants to say something to him, but as he stretches his arm out for her, she pushes past him, making her way to the lobby.

He closes the door, staring after her in confusion as her heels’ clicks echo in the car park. Was that his dismissal for the day? 

She stops for a moment and turns to him with a frown. “Are you coming up for dinner or what?” 

* * *

"There's beer in the fridge if you're into that." 

"Can't drink on the job ma'am," Lance tilts his head out into her porch. It's not his most favourite feature - a built-in perch for potential assassins. He locks the glass doors securely behind him and turns to appraise the apartment.

"Oh will you stop that," she sighs in exasperation, looking to him with a hand on her hip. "It may not look like it, but my apartment's basically a fortress."

"Just part of protocol, Dr. Holt." He turns his attention to the hallway off to the corner, making his way down to inspect each room and bathroom before returning to the open kitchen that overlooked the living room. Two beds. One bath. Scant furnishings. He could've sworn her net worth was in the billions.

"And stop that too."Lance pauses and lifts an eyebrow slowly, unsure of what she meant. "The names. Ma'am. Dr. Holt. I hate those. At least when we're alone," she bends down as she inspects her open fridge and Lance tears his eyes away before he stares too closely to her silk dress clinging to her behind.

"What would you prefer?" He slips his hands in his pockets, sauntering back out into the hall. It's a relatively simple apartment for the luxury building it's located in. A little on the smaller side but still on the coveted top floor offering brilliant night views of the glittering city. He slides onto one of the bar stools in front of the island and watches her wrap a pre-prepared baked ziti in foil. She pauses for a moment, staring down at the food before resuming, reaching for plates and utensils.

"Pidge."

"Pidge..." he tests the name. "I feel like I've heard that one before."

She shrugs and sets the dish in the oven and Lance coughs, swivelling in his seat to look out the large, floor-to-ceiling windows before he could look down her dress. He's completely disoriented by her and he's struggling to understand why. 

“Well Pidge, I’m gonna have to insist you call me Lance.”

“When we’re alone? Sure.” She gives him a smile and his heart skips a beat as if he’s a love-struck teen all over again.

Sure, she's a very attractive young woman, but she's his charge first and foremost. Her life depended on him not getting distracted by her 'assets' in every turn. He’d chased after models in his younger days who were stunning, but none have had such an effortless power over him like she did. He scrubs his face tiredly and glances at his watch. It's minutes away to midnight; his apartment was way too far out from here for him to use public transport.

"You're welcome to stay the night," Pidge speaks up. She's licking tomato sauce off her knuckles now and he closes his eyes, gathering his senses. A few months off the force and he's back to being a horny teenager. He's truly out of shape.

"I... I can't. Besides, can't show up to the office tomorrow in the same suit heh," he winces at his own words.

"I have some men's suits about your size," she replies coolly, pouring herself a glass of wine. "You're welcome to borrow them. Or take them entirely. I have no use for them."

He gulps, unsure of what to say next. If the rumors are to be believed, he isn’t quite sure how he feels about wearing one of James’s old suits.

"So," she drags a stool to sit across him, her chin resting on her hand. "What caused your demotion?" The question makes him abruptly sit up, looking at her with surprise. She smirks at him and takes a sip of her wine, giving him a wink. "You have to give me credit, Lance. I did code the database infrastructure for the Celestial Intelligence Force. It's not that hard for me to pull up information on anyone in the facility."

He thinks quietly for several moments, unsure of what to say without breaking any non-disclosure protocols. He knows his case file is sealed and with the extra politics involved, it's unlikely that he is ever going to be reinstated to his position any time soon. If it weren’t for Shiro’s intervention, he's sure he’d be deskbound in some backoffice, organising paperwork from the previous century. He belongs out in the field, doing what he does best; protecting the innocent. 

“Failure to listen to orders,” he finally admits, looking to her with a wry smile. “I hope this doesn’t make you feel unsafe with me.” 

His voice comes out more dark and sultry than he intended when he had intended on teasing. But it is too late; Pidge’s cheeks pinkened. She coughs lightly and takes a gulp of her wine, avoiding his gaze.

He clears his throat, sitting himself upright. "So, why does a single, young lady such as yourself have a suite of men's suits?"

He regrets the question as soon as he says it. Color drains from her face and the grip on her glass tightens. Her eyes glass over and look steely out the windows. He thinks back to the salacious rumours of her and James were true, though he highly doubts it. Griffin has the emotional range of a teaspoon and from what he had gathered from the gossip mills of the Garrison, he never spends longer than a night with any given woman. 

"They were my brother's," she answers stiffly, still not looking at him in the eyes. Suddenly, he feels like a  _ massive  _ asshole and sort of wishes Griffin is there to yell at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” she answers stiffly, standing up abruptly. She sets her glass on the sink and makes her way down the hall. She returns with a garment bag in her hands and sets it on the table, looking down at it with an odd look on her face. “Mom used to buy him suits all the time, but he’d never wear them. Said they were too stuffy.” Her fingers trace over the cover, where his full name was printed neatly on the material. “If you’re not comfortable-”

“No! No, I’ll wear it. Thank you,” he adds too quickly, eager not to upset her any further. 

The mystery of this woman only thickens with each moment, and he wonders if he’ll ever get to know the full her. _Assuming_ he doesn’t become another notch on her belt; just another agent forced to resign for unexplained circumstances. But of everything he's learned about her, one thing is for certain. For all her intellect, power and influence, Katerina Holt is a lonely woman.

He doesn’t know how, but the careful distance between them had shortened, and it wasn’t his doing. Her fingers rest gently over his and trace over the small scars he’d earned in his old life. His heart is going a mile a minute and she’s so close, he can feel the soft silk of her dress against his arm. Only a thin layer between her bare skin - radiating  _ tantalising  _ warmth - and his. 

“Will you stay then?” she whispers, lifting her head slowly to look into his eyes. He’s transfixed and a hand lifts shakily to rest against her cheek. His thumb traces under her eyes, slightly swollen from her tears earlier. Just before he wills himself to pull his arm away, her soft cheek nestles against his palm and she is giving him a look akin to a needy puppy and he knows she has him twisted around her finger. 

He realizes then they are not that much different. He can’t remember the last time he’s held someone in his arms; had his needs tended to. With how hard she works, he does not doubt she’s worse off. He’d be  _ starved  _ for touch if he was her.

“I can’t…” he’s not convincing anybody with that tremble in his voice. “Pidge, I don’t want to take advantage of-”

Pidge shuts him up with a kiss and it’s all the encouragement he needs to pull her body close to his. He cages her in his arms, lifting her up onto the kitchen island. His kisses are bruising and demanding, and his hands inch her gown up her soft thighs. Her body begins to tremble and he pulls away abruptly, despite her soft whines. 

For the briefest moment, Griffin’s voice fills his head, reminding him of professionalism, of decorum...but he shoves it aside as soon as her hand wraps around his wrist. 

Pidge herself is breathless, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen with his treatment of them. She’s looking at him with all the need that he feels in his own bones.

He leans forward and seals his lips over hers.

* * *

* * *

Lance stares up at the ceiling blearily. His breaths had calmed and his body still limp. Her small form curls on top of him, a head pressed to his chest snuggles closer. He allows his arm to curl around her, a hand running down the length of her back - the same soft skin he’d been eyeing since the evening was now pressed to his, and he isn’t sure what to make of it. Soft fingertips ghost gently over his scars and he knows a question is coming to her mind; he’s relieved she has the good sense to not ask him about it. Or perhaps, she already knows.

He wonders if he's the first one to end up between her sheets. Whether he's the first one to develop an embarrassing and juvenile...  _ crush  _ \- though from the looks of his boss, it doesn't seem like he is - and turn into a weak fool, giving in to her every want. At that, he closes his eyes and mentally groans. Lance tells himself he’s just another hot-blooded man, but he’s not sure if he’s convinced of that himself. All it took for him to buckle, was one doe-eyed look and some exposed skin. Griffin will feast on his corpse, he’s sure.

His racing mind halts as soon he thinks of his boss.

He's dead meat. Dead, dead,  _ dead  _ meat. 

Lance rubs his eyes tiredly with a slow, heavy exhale, feeling the tension returns to his muscles and the pleasant rush that had been running through his veins quickly turns to fear. 

He's been doing so well. How did he fuck it all up in one night?! 

"Regretting it already?" The head on his chest lifts and liquid amber eyes peers up at him bemusedly. Their legs are still tangled intimately and his breath hitches as her legs move to pull herself away. "Don't worry, I won't tell on you."

Her voice has turned to it’s usual dryness and he's quick to note - held a hint of hurt. He doesn't want her to feel dejected, not when she's given him a desperately needed pressure release. He pulls himself up just as she seats herself on the edge of the bed. 

She pulls the sheets around her shoulders and stares quietly down at the floor. Lance reaches for her, but is stopped by a raised hand.

"Don't." 

"Doc- Pidge, I-"

"Please. Just don't." 

She sits up, but falls back immediately and he hears a soft gasp. Lance is by her side in seconds and she waves him away. Her face is pink but she looks morbidly embarrassed and Lance hopes - but is pretty sure it is - it's not his doing. 

"Can I get you anything?" He offers, a hand hovering just over her shoulder but retracts it when she shakes her head. Just minutes ago, she'd surrendered all control to him, begging him to overpower her. But now, the scales have tipped back to their usual state. 

He inspects her body, hoping he hadn't been too rough with her and beyond the little love bites littered around her neck and shoulders, he doesn't see anything obvious that could distress her. He gingerly touches her hand, and it takes many moments before Pidge gently slid hers closer to his. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asks gently, squeezing her fingers. 

She turns her head away and in a voice so soft, he almost misses it, she says, "not in a bad way, no." 

It takes him a while but it finally clicks and a part of him almost wishes she hadn't said that. His ego would be unbearable now. He hides his smirk by pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Pidge turns her head, meeting his lips with hers and gives him a feathery soft kiss. It's the kind that leaves him breathless and wanting more as she pulls away, and it makes him realise he's been too lonely for far too long. 

"Happy birthday," she whispers softly, a hand lingering on his cheek before she stands to disappear behind another door. He collapses back onto the bed as he hears her shower run. 

Lance glances at his watch and sure enough, it’s midnight, he's just turned twenty-eight and possibly fucked up another career.


	2. Chapter 2

_The next morning_

He's awake.

Pidge keeps herself still and her breathing steady. She's not sure what the time is, but judging by the soft blue light illuminating her room, it is close to dawn.

Lance exhales underneath her and she feels his fingers trace down the length of her spine. She shivers and snuggles closer to him, relishing in the warmth of his bare skin, taking in his scent. Her fingers itch to trace over the large scars engulfing half his torso, but she does not want him to think she's awake.

This has to be the most relaxed she's been in months. It's a feeling she could get used to. 

He's pensive, she can sense it, and she's hoping he's still not regretful of what they had done the night before. It makes her feel guilty for not having more self-control, but it’s _incredibly_ hard to resist the invisible bond between them and the constant tug closer to him. She'd seen his hungry gazes no matter how hard he tried to hide them; felt the static each time their fingers brushed; experienced the igniting of a flame in her belly every time his hand was on the small of her back. She'd hoped it had been something he wanted as much as she did, but a sudden and daunting realization overcomes her as she wonders if he’d entertained her out of... pity. 

If that was the case, Pidge isn’t sure how to face him.

She hears the faint vibration of a phone followed by his soft groan. His arms gently close around her and she feels herself shift to the bed slowly, until Lance hovers above her. He lingers for a moment and she can feel his gaze on her face. His fingertips brush a few strands of hair from her cheek before he pulls away. 

He leaves the room to answer the phone and she strains to hear the conversation. He’s speaking too low for her to make out any words, but there’s a sense of formality in his replies that tells her he’s speaking to a higher authority. 

His footsteps return, then disappear into her bathroom. His shower is quick and he's out before she has time to pull herself out of bed. She pretends to still be asleep and hears the soft zip of his pants and the click of his belt as he dresses. 

She allows her eyes to open a fraction and her vision focuses on the scars branching across his bare back as he pulls on his ballistic vest, strapping it carefully to his chest and pulling his shirt over it. She quickly squeezes her eyes shut as his body turns towards her. The bed dips as he sits on the edge, pulling the blankets up to cover her shoulders. He sits there in silence for several moments and it takes her every ounce of willpower to not crack open an eye to see the expression that colors his face. His lips brush across her forehead before he gets up. 

She hears the soft clinks of their plates and wine glasses from last night and his footsteps leaving the room to head towards her kitchen. She strains to hear what he's doing. He’s washing the dishes first and then she hears him turn on the stove. The sizzle of bacon and eggs follows as well as the soft whirr of the coffee machine. The delicious smells that wafts through her house makes her want to go to him, but something in her compels her to remain in bed. 

She's embarrassed. It's been a long time since she had been this vulnerable and _intimate_ with someone. Least of all, someone who had slept with her out of sympathy.

After a few minutes of silence, she hears her front door click shut. He's gone.

For another hour or so, she broods in her bed. It's not until she pulls herself upright, that she feels the soft silk of his tie beneath his pillow. She slides it back underneath, blushing as she remembers its purpose in her bed. It is one of the things that had surprised her about him - even with all his gentleness, he had an aggressive streak - and she has no complaints on the matter at all.

Her front door bursts open and Pidge jumps, her body tensing.

"It's only me!" The voice of her longtime best friend - but at the moment, greatest nuisance - Nadia Rizavi, floats through the hallways and Pidge falls back into her bed with a sigh.

"And...me." A softer, more composed voice follows. Princess Allura of Altea, one of the most generous benefactors of the Olkarion-Earth Institute and as well as a close friend, despite a mere year of knowing each other. "I'm so sorry to intrude your home. Nadia insisted that-"

"I heard that Ron was an asshole to you," Nadia interrupts, her voice growing louder as she walked further into her apartment. Pidge scrambles to pull the sheets over her shoulders just as her friend's head peers through the door. "I'll call up my girls and deal with him, don't worry babe. D’aw, look at you. You're..."

Nadia’s gold eyes squint through her glasses and Pidge gulps as her friend stalks into her room. Pidge squeaks as her friend crawls onto her bed. "Nadia!" Her face flames as Nadia tugs the sheets off her shoulders.

"You got laid!" Nadia says after a scandalized gasp. "Oh my- 'Llura! Get over here! Our Katerina's a woman now!"

Nadia dodges the pillow Pidge throws her way while giggling, collapsing on top of her. Pidge feels her fingers tickling at her sides and yelps, resisting the uncontrollable urge to laugh.

"I go away for six months and this is what you're up to?" Nadia chides playfully. "Honestly, I should have you chaperoned."

"Nadia, _please_..." Pidge turns her face back onto her pillow in morbid embarrassment. If there is a time she wishes she didn't have friends, it's now.

"Is it alright for me to come in?" Allura peaks in by her bedroom door with an amused smile. Her ivory hair is coiffed perfectly in a bun atop her head. A thin circle of silver around her head signifying her position. Both women were still in their Altean uniforms; they’d just returned from their mission and it warms her heart that they head to her first upon returning.

"Civilised people are _always_ welcome," Pidge grumbles, throwing a pointed look Nadia's way.

“Is he still here?” Allura looks about the room, a light brow rising at the silk dress neatly folded over a chair. Pidge isn’t sure at what point he had picked it up.

“No, he left a little while ago.” 

"I know it's definitely not Ron," Nadia peers at her closely, as though she's trying to read her mind. "Who did you manage to catch in that short window?"

"How are you so sure it’s not him?" Pidge sighs. Not even a day, and it looks like her secret will be out.

"I mean, he made you breakfast. I’m pretty sure Ron’s never stepped into a kitchen in his life."

"What?!" She isn’t sure why she’s surprised. Pidge had assumed he made breakfast for himself.

"There's a plate of eggs, bacon and muffins on the table," Allura supplies, seating herself elegantly on the other side of her with a ready smile. "I'm glad you've met a nice gentleman. You deserve someone who pampers you."

"Are you both here to be my moms or-"

“ _Please_ tell me it’s not James,” Nadia’s face distorts with disgust. “I could still barely look him in the eye without wanting to slap him.” 

Pidge’s face falls and she pulls her blankets tighter around her body. Both ladies are quick to sandwich her in an uncomfortably tight - especially considering she’s still in the nude - but loving hug. 

“Offer to toss him over a cliff for you still on the table, babe.”

“Perhaps my offer is not as fatal, but I could always have Coran arrange for a Zrugel worm to swallow him whole for a few minutes?”

“Oooh, yeah. Let's go with that one,” Nadia nods eagerly.

Pidge manages a short, humorless laugh and shakes her head. “No, it’s not him. I’m not that dumb.” 

"So who was it?" Nadia pulls herself closer, straddling her so she has no means of escape. Pidge closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She considers how much more protective Nadia will get; how Allura might look at her differently. But both women could be trusted with a secret and she finally relents. 

"It's...Lance."

Both ladies go silent. Allura tilts her head in confusion while Nadia's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"Lance? _LANCE_?! The same Lance who-"

"Yeah."

"The one who punched-"

"Yup."

"The same one who you had a crush-"

 _"Yes_. That's the one. I don't know any other Lances. Do you?"

"I'm sorry, who did Pidge punch and crush?" Allura frowns, looking between them in confusion.

"It's Lance -freaking- Serrano!” Nadia rolls away from her, grasping Allura’s shoulders dramatically. “The boy Pidge has been in love with since she was a little schoolgirl."

"I'm not in lo-"

"Aw, Pidge. That's precious!" Allura giggles, leaning forward to pinch her cheeks much to her annoyance.

“Wait,” Nadia frowns, turning to her. “Isn’t he your new bodyguard?” 

"Can you guys go on another six month mission?" Pidge grumbles, pushing them away and pulling herself out of bed. Both her friends burst into a fit of giggles as her blanket slides off her body and Nadia whistles as soon as she sees the fading love bites on her thighs.

“Looks like it was one hell of a date.” Nadia nudges Allura. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a full service bodyguard?” 

“Nadia,” Allura says with a chiding tone, though she still laughs. “Don’t be so crass.” 

"I've seen _your_ hunky bodyguard Princess. Don't tell me you don't have fantasies climbing that man like a tree."

"I don't imagine Mr Kogane would enjoy that," Allura wrinkles her nose, but there’s a faint pink dusting across her cheeks. 

“Girl, have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?” 

Pidge takes the opportunity to disappear for a shower. As she brushes her teeth, she stares at the pink marks running down her neck to her shoulders. Her memory is still vivid and an ache between her legs returns. She will be living on turtlenecks for a while.

The cold water of her shower shocks her and she steps back, quickly turning the knob back to her usual spot. 

Well, she’s wide awake now. She's also learned that her late night beau favors icy cold showers. 

* * *

"Got yourself in trouble again?" A voice calls behind him. He turns in surprise, seeing his oldest sister there, arms akimbo. A disapproving frown is already fixed on her face and she goes to his side, twisting his ear. "You really don't have to look so shocked, I'm the first person they speed-dial when you get yourself into some deep shit." 

"Jeez, I'm not fourteen anymore," Lance waves her away, turning on his heel to continue walking to the head offices. He's been summoned by the Director of Intelligence, Admiral Sanda. Griffin refuses to tell him why and the phone call from him that morning still haunts him. "Do _you_ know why I'm being summoned?" Lance grumbled, reluctant to have to ask his sister for help. 

"No, actually," she sighs. "That's why I'm more than afraid." 

He stops before the double glass doors that lead to the top floor and Veronica stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He turns to her with a raised brow and feels his heart stop when he sees her pale complexion. 

"Lance..." she begins, a deep crease forming between her brows. "This...This is a different league. Think carefully on what they’re saying...what they’re _asking_ of you, before you answer, okay?" 

Whatever anxiety he felt before, turns quickly to abject fear. But before he could ask her what she meant, she’s gone. 

"Agent Serrano?" He jumps as a man comes up behind him without making the slightest sound. The man looks young, perhaps his age, but his eyes are hardened and empty. "Admiral Sanda's been expecting you." 

He's led through many doors and he's reminded of Pidge's labs. Something of a glass cage - many layers of locks and doors meant to keep the outside world out, but also to keep the inside world - and it's people - in. With each level of protection they clear, fear slowly creeps up his chest and grips at his throat. 

He wonders what the penalty is for sleeping with a principal. Another demotion? Suspension? He will not be surprised if he gets discharged. Not even Shiro can save him from this big of a screw up. 

The man stops before a large, imposing oak door and Lance feels something of déjà vu. Perhaps this isn't the same as when he was introduced to Pidge as her bodyguard, but it certainly reminds him of the time after his demotion, making his way to see General Iverson for a dressing down of a lifetime. 

“ _Come in, Serrano._ ” 

His guide turns away, walking away from him wordlessly to leave him to his demise. Lance gulps and turns to the door, shakily opening it. 

* * *

"Do you know anything about Lance Serrano?" Pidge asks as she stares into her coffee blankly. Her finger taps against the handle anxiously as she finds herself glancing at her watch every few seconds.

It’s well past noon and there’s still no sight of her bodyguard. One of the ground team’s men, Ryan Kinkade, had introduced himself as a ‘temporary replacement’ that morning and now waits dutifully outside the door to her office. It’s not that she doesn't like her replacement - if anything, for the few hours he’s been with her, she’s sure he’s the most professional bodyguard she’s met yet - but it sends knots to her stomach just on the thought that she had pushed Lance’s boundaries too far.

She thinks back to the night before. To how quickly his body language had shifted from satiated to agitated once the reality of what they had done hit him. She closes her eyes and massages her temples, feeling the onset of a headache. Why did she have to be so quiznacking _weak_? 

She desperately hopes Lance hasn’t resigned.

Nadia shrugs and tears off the clingfilm around her sandwich. "I mean, I never got to meet the guy personally. Griffin hates his guts...though I think it's because he breaks protocol a lot so it’s just the same reason he hates everyone." Nadia chews thoughtfully on her sandwich, looking at her over the rim of her glasses. “You’ve had the guy for...what? Three months? I’m sure you know _a lot_ more about him than I would.” 

"Yeah but… I don't know. Don't you agents gossip? Why did he get demoted?"

“ _Former_ agent. No one besides James talks to me anymore and I’d rather skewer him alive, so…” Nadia shrugs. “Since I’ve crossed lines to join the Altean Special Forces, they... _kind of_ treat me like a traitor.” 

“Oh.” It’s the first time Pidge hears of this and her brows furrow in worry. Nadia waves it off with a smile. 

“Don’t give me that look. They’re just jealous I get to hang around hot alien chicks and get better pay,” her friend leans forward to squeeze her hand. “If anything...I regret joining only because I’m away from you a lot. So stop giving yourself wrinkles girl.” Pidge laughs as Nadia pokes her forehead. “Why don’t you just do your _thing_?”

“I’ve tried my usual methods but…” 

“But?” 

"The encryption around his file… it isn't my design. It's almost...alien."

"Wouldn't be surprised if it actually was," Nadia says in between mouthfuls of her lunch. "Sometimes, we get to know stuff during a mission the big hats up there don't like us knowing. I mean, we’re sworn to secrecy and all that but they could easily make upper management take extra measures to cover it up. _Especially_ details from mission reports." 

“Right…” Pidge worries at her lip. “Do you think you could connect me with Allura’s decryption team?” 

“Anything for you babe.” Nadia winks, whisking out her phone to immediately compose a message. "So, enough about work. I need to know something.” She leans forward, throwing her phone aside as soon as she’s done to give her a massive grin. Pidge already knows, in classic Nadia fashion, it is going to be a highly intrusive question. “I heard the rumors way back in the Academy but is he as thic-"

"Yes," she interrupts her friend, her face flaming. "Very much so."

"Well, _that’s_ why you’ve been walking funny all day," Nadia giggles. “You’re positively _glowing_.” 

“Nads, it was a fling.” She disguises a smile with a mouthful of cold ziti. “It’s really that forgettable.” Well, now she’s lying through her teeth to her best friend.

"Sweetie, you're wearing turtlenecks in _July_. I don’t think you’re going to be forgetting anything when he’s left a lot of souvenirs on your body." Nadia laughs again as Pidge groans. As mortified as she is, she’s happy to have her friend back home. It already fills her with dread knowing that she'll be gone once more soon; off for another mission in deep space. No contact. No visits. With her own busy schedule, it’s tough as it is to find time with her. It’s why they’re in her office, having cold sandwiches and her leftovers from dinner for lunch in the twenty minute window she had before yet another meeting. 

A knock comes from the door and Pidge’s head perks up. 

“Is that him?” Nadia whispers, nearly jumping out of her seat in excitement and scrambling to open the door. Pidge finds herself running her fingers through her hair self-consciously, only for the door to open to reveal the face of one exhausted, but ever handsome James Griffin. "Oh, it's _you_ ," Nadia sighs, stepping back into the room. 

"Good morning, Nadia. I missed you too." James rolls his eyes. 

“I certainly didn’t miss you,” Nadia scoffs, seating herself back after throwing a rude finger his way. James sighs and he turns to her and there’s a look of hesitation before he tries a gentle smile. It’s noticeably strained - as it usually is, since he left her - but Pidge tries her best to return it; putting in every effort to look unaffected by his presence. He looks relieved for her reciprocating and it apparently gives him enough courage to enter the room further. 

"Can you piss off, we're on our union-sanctioned break," Nadia waves him away, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"You guys are in a union?" James frowns, glancing over to Pidge in confusion. 

"With that attitude, there will be one."

James sighs in exasperation and turns to Pidge. It takes him awhile to look at her in the eyes and it makes her secretly glad she still has that effect on him. “You um, look well rested,” he offers, finally lifting his gaze from her lunch to her. 

Nadia snorts into her coffee and Pidge throws a glare at her. James glances between the two ladies in confusion and raises his hands. “Look, I don’t know how girl code works but if something happened in the past few days, I need to know.” 

“Nothing significant,” Pidge replies quickly, shooting a warning look Nadia’s way. “What brings you to my office?” There’s a surprising tone of confidence in her voice when she speaks that surprises her. Even though she knows Nadia’s presence is a big factor, it’s freeing and a welcome relief to see him and not feel the telltale quivers in her hands. The dull ache in her heart, however, is still present and is making itself known.

Griffin seats himself next to Nadia - who scoots her chair away in disgust, much to Pidge’s amusement - and leans forward to address her. His eyes are kind as ever and she could see the same strained sadness in his eyes whenever he sees her. 

She refuses to believe he’s as hurt as she is. 

“So? Do you think you can trust him?”

“Yeah...” Pidge nods slowly, hoping there isn’t a blush on her cheeks. “Shiro’s right. He’s still… he’s still the guy I knew back at the Garrison.” 

“That’s supposed to be a good thing?” James raises a brow, his features turning serious. She hated it whenever he did that. It reminds her of how cruel he can be. “You know how important this is, Katie. I have intel he has a meeting today with Sanda. Things can change really quickly from now on.” 

Pidge avoids his eyes; he knows her well and what he is _really_ asking of her and she hates that he’s using intimate knowledge against her. 

“My judgement is not clouded, if that’s what you’re implying,” she turns her attention back to her lunch. She just wants to get back to her day, but her rhythm is thrown off. It does not take her a long while to realize why - beyond James’ and Nadia’s presence, Lance is not there in his usual spot. Seated where James is currently seated, quietly observing whatever she does with that faraway look in those dreamy eyes of his.

“Katie, you know I trust you,” James gets up and walks to her side. He glances over to Nadia and she rolls her eyes, but jumps up to close the door of the office. “But this is serious. We need to know if we could trust him.” 

Pidge bites her lip, staring blankly at her cold, baked ziti. There is another serving in her tupperware - for Lance - and the reminder of his unexplained disappearance makes her anxious. Ryan had reassured her that morning that he will be back soon and knowing now it’s with _Sanda_ of all people, it makes all the more jittery. She also hopes James doesn’t know more than she does. 

Nadia is oddly quiet and Pidge glances over to her friend. She’s pretending to be on her phone, but she knows exactly what is running through her mind.

“I trust him,” she answers resolutely. James inspects her face - a habit of his that used to make her squirm, but does not affect her at that moment. She’s determined to trust Lance, and not just because she had... _has_ a childish crush on him. 

Lance, unlike her other guards, has not given her any reason to distrust him. It’s his job to, but no other guard - except maybe, at one point, James - makes her feel safe as Lance does. He hasn’t snooped around her things, examined her inventions too closely and most importantly, did not have listening devices on him. Undressing him last night only confirmed that.

But beyond that, he looks out for her in ways that went well beyond his job description. He’d bring her food when he notices she’s getting too cranky. He shields her when an investor gets too testy with her and would give them one cold glare that was enough to make them keel. And every single night he carries her in her arms after a long exhausting day, - on some days, she pretends to be asleep - removing her shoes and tucking her in, it makes her wish for him to stay. Last night, her wish was finally granted but the longing for him still exists. 

Outside her office, she hears a familiar voice giving a cheery greeting to Ryan and her heart sets off almost as if on cue. She flushes and presses a hand to her chest and it’s her own luck that Nadia and James are distracted by their new guest. 

"Good afternoon," Lance steps into the room, perfectly composed and well put together in the navy suit she had handed to him last night, complete with that charming smile of his. He looks nothing like the wild man who'd ravaged her in her bed. The smirk Nadia gives her over her shoulder is enough to both ground her and ease the palpitations in her chest.

"Good afternoon Agent," Pidge responds, ignoring the sudden warmth in her belly and phantom fingers tracing lines down her body to places a bodyguard should _not_ have access to. It's like she's fifteen again and the very sight of him makes her want to melt in a puddle.

“Rizavi, I believe we have some matters to discuss,” James jerks his head towards the door, his tone suddenly dour. 

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, important business stuff. I’ll see you later babe, okay?” Nadia packs up her things and makes her way out of the office after a kiss to her cheek. Pidge sighs and shakes her head as her friend waggles her eyebrows behind Lance. 

"I'm sure you know Nadia. She used to be a Celestial Agent too," Pidge nods to the door.

"I have seen her around, ma'am," Lance smiles, moving forward to position himself right in front of her desk as he does every day. It’s obvious he’s making it a point to ignore James’s presence and she just hopes that doesn’t sour his boss’s mood. Even further, at least.

It feels odd to go back to their usual rhythm of things. It's not that Pidge dislikes it - if anything, there's a sort of comfort to it - but she will be lying to herself if she says she did not wish for a change of some sort. A certain brand of intimacy that went beyond his tremendous performance the night before.

But of course nothing is going to change. It was a fling. They both had an itch to scratch and that was all there was to it. She remembers her find that morning and reaches into her bag. Before she could speak, James clears his throat. In her excitement of seeing Lance again, she’s forgotten he’s there.

“Serrano. A word.” 

Lance waits till James exits first, giving her a coy smile and raised eyebrows before turning his back to leave. But when he returns alone a few minutes later, looking a touch paler, she smiles sympathetically at him. 

"You forgot your tie," Pidge dangles the material between her fingers. She crosses the room towards him, gesturing for him to lean forward. She knows he's staring at her, but pretends not to notice. Instead, she focuses on lifting his collar and sliding the tie around his neck. 

"Wouldn't want you to get in trouble with Griffin…"

Lance is completely still before her, his face only inches away from her own. She carefully begins tying it, forcing her brain to remember the Windsor and not the night before, when the tie had become very handy in keeping her arms above her head.

"Thank you ma'am," Lance's voice is low and she just _knows_ he's thinking of the exact same thing. 

When she's finished, she brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders. He scents lightly of her own fruity shampoo and it makes her miss his usual earthy soap that she found secretly comforting. A far cry from the cloying body spray he used to drench himself in as a teen. 

Her eyes drift to his lips and Lance's breath hitches. The door to her office is unlocked; anyone could walk in any moment now. Her hands drop from his shoulders and she swivels back to her table, effortlessly transitioning back to the part of her she’s most comfortable with.

“Ready for another day, Agent?” 

“Always ready for you, Dr. Holt.” 

* * *

The water is calm and cool on his sore muscles and heated skin. His breaths slow and even. His body drifts slowly across the surface as slowly allows tension to seep out of his body.. He spreads his arms out, allowing his eyes to close and for him to experience full weightlessness. 

He frowns as he hears footsteps, echoing across the expansive room. They stop next to him.

“...Buddy?”

He allows an eye to crack open and sees the worried face of Hunk Garrett peering down at him. 

“Oh good. Just checking if you’re still alive.” 

Lance snorts and closes his eyes. He wishes he’s on the beaches of his home town. Sure, it’d be noisier with the tourists and children playing in the water; but he’d be home, with all it’s warmth from his family and the comforting salty winds of the sea. But for now, the chlorine-tinged air and the haunting silence will do. 

“Heard she’s headed to Europe next month.” 

“Yup.” 

“You get to go too?”

“Of course,” Lance’s eyes open fully. He clears his throat and does what he hopes is his best James Griffin impression. “ _Wherever she goes. You go. If she walks into fire, so will you.”_

Hunk chuckles and sits himself on the edge. “So I take everything’s going well?” 

He thinks of her pressed beneath him. Satiated, flushed and giving him the most adoring gaze that still makes his heart stop. It’s an image of her that’s burnt to his mind now. “I guess you can say that,” he replies slowly, moving himself upright to swim a few laps. He feels invigorated all of a sudden. 

No matter how much he works out to the point of exhaustion, his mind just won’t stop racing. Thoughts of her and his past and most of all, his meeting with Sanda. 

Their conversation plays back in his ears at night and they haunt him when he wakes in the morning. It’s already been a few days and he is still unable to shake the goosebumps he gets from the mere thought of it. 

His arms begin to ache, begging for him to stop and he swims towards his friend. 

“How did you spend your birthday?” Hunk asks conversationally as he pulls himself out to sit next to him. Lance smooths his hair back, looking into the bright blue waters in stunned silence.

“I got laid,” he answers plainly. It is the truth. He did get laid. And then he woke up the following morning and willingly walked into a lion’s den. He’s sure he’s never going to forget his twenty-eighth birthday in his lifetime.

“I think I kind of figured that one out,” Hunk looks pointedly at the red splotches on his neck. Lance reflexively covers them, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He feels like a teenager again; maybe less of the troublemaking and making out with girls he didn’t know all that well. But this time, it’s different. He _knows_ it’s different. 

This time, he wants to know the girl. 

“So who’s the poor sod?” Hunk kicks his feet in the water distractedly and Lance knows he does not really care about his nighttime exploits. 

“You have to swear not to tell anyone.”

Hunk raises a brow but shrugs. “Scout’s honor.” 

“My boss.”

There’s a prolonged pause. 

“...James gave you a birthday bang?” 

Lance looks incredulously at his friend and they both laugh heartily. But as soon as it clicks for Hunk, his smile drops and his complexion pales. 

“Please, for the love of all things good, tell me you’re not sleeping with your _principal_.”

Lance sighs, reaching for his duffel bag and towel. His silence is enough to answer him. He dries his hair off, ignoring Hunk’s gawk. Lance is determined to believe his lapse in judgement will not affect things. Everything has been business as usual so far and Pidge goes about her day as if nothing had transpired. He only wants to follow suit. “It happened once. It’s definitely not happening again.” 

“Is that why Sanda called you to her office?”

Lance frowns. “How the hell did you know I got called?”

“Veronica told me.” 

He covers his face with his towel to groan. With a heavy sigh, Lance glances around him, making sure they were truly alone. It’s Friday night and he knows the groundskeeper well enough to let him in to use the pool privately. Once he’s certain the coast is clear, he moves himself closer to Hunk.

“They...they want me to spy on her.” 

* * *

It’s just about as any other ordinary day as they come, but Lance feels himself on edge. He reasons to himself it’s because they are no longer safely ensconced in the safe bubble of her high security labs, but his intuition tells him a different story. 

They’re at the Plaht Institute of Technology. He recalls from the accolades hung on her walls that one of Pidge’s doctorates had been awarded by the very college. He finds himself staring at the hallways, picturing a teenaged Pidge bustling through them with laptops and lab reports in hand. It’s an endearing image, but one that he pushes firmly to the back of his head. 

The grown-up Pidge is right before him, looking beautiful as she always is. He did her hair half up and half down with her bangs framing her eyes. It’s experimental on his end, but he’s pleased with it. 

“Why did I ever agree to this?” She mumbles under her breath, staring wide-eyed at the podium. They’re hidden backstage in the wings, peering between the heavy curtains. Pidge steps forward but as soon as she glimpses the crowd, she steps back, her face white as a sheet. “Oh _quiznack_. Did they invite every college student in the country?!” 

“You wanted to share your love for physics,” Lance pats her back as she takes a sip of her water. “And they’re all here to see you, because you inspire them.” There’s a note of pride in his voice. Of course he’s proud. The little outcast he’d been fascinated by in the Garrison is now the subject fascination to everyone in the world. 

He calmly scans the crowd, making eye contact with Kinkade and the newest Ground recruit, Leifsdottir before turning his eyes back to his charge. She’s about to give a lecture to college students on the future of technology and he has to resist a smile as she squirms from the praise loaded to her name from the hosting professor. 

Her hands begin to tremble and he steps forward, handing her a bottle of water. “Deep breaths, ma’am,” he whispers to her ear and she gives him a look of desperation that makes him chuckle. 

His earpiece crackles and he frowns, pressing it. The voices are warped and he adjusts it to avail. He sees the distinct change in Kinkade and Leif’s postures as they pressed their own, a frown quickly forming on both their faces. Kinkade abruptly leaves the auditorium and Ina gives him a signal that sends chills down his spine.

"We have to go.” 

“Wha-”

He wraps an arm around Pidge, guiding her to the stage exit. He brings her down a series of hidden stairs through the backstage and down a narrow, dusty pathway. Pidge is too dazed to question him and stumbles in her steps to match his pace. He finds the door and pulls her in, locking it shut behind them.

It’s almost pitch dark in the room save for the tiny crack underneath the door. The air is stale and Pidge sneezes as dust scattered with Lance’s slam of the door. 

“I might blow our cover,” Pidge grimaces before sneezing once more. “What’s happening?”

Lance pulls his handkerchief from his suit and hands it to her. “I don’t know, my earpiece isn’t working.” 

Pidge’s look of confusion quickly turns to trepidation and he pulls her close to him.

“It’s just a precaution,” he assures her gently, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “Kinkade’s gone to investigate. I don’t know what they heard, but Leif’s signalled me to extract you.” 

“But something’s happened, right?” She begins to tremble in his arms and Lance curses himself. “This is exactly what happened to Da-”

“Hey, hey. That’s why I’m here. You have nothing to be afraid of,” he strokes her hair gently, letting her burrow herself to his chest. “It’s probably a false alarm. This place is teeming with guards and surveillance. Nothing gets by them.” 

Pidge nods, but he knows she’s not convinced. He keeps an ear pressed to the door to hear any movement from the outside. From a distance, he hears the murmuring of the audience, confused about their missing guest. Beyond that, the only sounds that fill the room are Pidge’s sniffles and her soft panicked breaths. 

“Pidge…” he whispers softly, reaching down to brush his thumb across her cheek. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

His words are resolute and seem to strike a chord with her as her breathing slowly steadies. She hides her face to his chest again and he hugs her tight.

Of course she is going to be terrified. With all that happened to her family, he could only imagine the kind of fears she lives with everyday.

And it is just then he hears a soft sob against his chest and her breathing is heavy again, her body shaky and skin clammy. Lance immediately recognises the signs of an impending panic attack and grasps her chin, making her look up at him.

“Do this for me. Inhale for four seconds. Nice and slow,” he waits till she does so, doing it with her. “Good. You’re doing great. Now hold it for seven and then we’re going to exhale slowly for eight. Okay?” 

Pidge nods shakily. He follows it through with her a few times, a soothing hand stroking her hair as he did. It takes several minutes, but her breathing evens and he brushes a kiss to her forehead. “That’s my girl. You’re going to be okay.” 

He tenses as he hears footsteps and Pidge senses his unease immediately. She clings to him tight as he pushes her back against the wall, deep into the room while shielding her with his body. Pidge silences her own terrified gasp with her hand as the footsteps stopped before the door and he hushes her gently, grasping in the dark for her hand. When he finds it, Pidge's own fingers curl tightly to his in a tight grip.

“Serrano?” His entire body slumps in relief. It’s Kinkade. “Did you get the message? It was a false alarm.” 

Lance peels himself away from the wall and turns to her with a tired smile. “See? I told you,” his eyes softening as he feels moisture on her cheeks. He helps her up when her knees buckle, offering her his arm to grasp as tightly as she wished as he makes his way to open the door.

Kinkade’s brows rise at the sight of her. “Apologies ma’am. We never meant to give you a fright.” 

“It’s okay,” Pidge shakes her head furiously, stilling holding his hand in a vice-like grip. She remembers herself and untangles her fingers from his, and Lance immediately misses the warmth of her small hand in his. “You guys are just doing your job.” 

And it is just that. His job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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	3. Chapter 3

“I’m worried about you babe,” Nadia snuggles to her side, resting her head on her shoulder. Pidge leans her head on top of hers, closing her eyes. It’s nice to not be home alone for once,to have a warm body cuddled right next to her. 

“I’m more than safe. James managed to get Ina to join the ground team and I’ll be having two vehicles following-”

“Not _that_ ,” Nadia sighs as her hand twines with hers. Pidge feels something catch at her throat. The last time Nadia did this, was at her Matt's funeral. Pidge knows she wants to be serious. She shakily squeezes the hand back and lifts her head upright. 

“Then what is it?” 

“You’re a lovesick puppy,” she begins carefully, tilting her head up to look Pidge right in the eye. “I’m glad you’re letting loose and having fun but… I’ve had some time to think and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing to have Lance so close to you.” 

“You’re beginning to sound like James. What did he put into your head?” Pidge huffs, slightly hurt. She pulls her hand away. “You were cheering for me just a day ago, what changed now?”

Nadia bites her lip. “Circumstances,” she sighs. “It didn’t immediately occur to me, but...James made me realize we can’t be too complacent, and as much as I hate to listen to him, he’s got a point. You’re with someone you’re eager to trust and he knows it. I mean, you’ve let him into your bed! You’re usually way more guar-”

“We fucked _once_. I’m not in love with him or anything. He doesn’t have to be so protective.” For one, very brief night, Lance had given her the intimacy she’d craved; she knows not to expect anything more. 

Nadia’s brows knit in confusion. “I...I’m sorry, but I _really_ have to ask if you’re talking about James or Lance.” 

Pidge buries her head in her hands. “Lance. Obviously Lance. _James_ doesn’t have to be protective.” 

Nadia sighs and shifts closer. “Babe, underneath that terrifying little firecracker facade you have on, you have a gooey little heart that’s way too soft,” she says as she clutches Pidge's shoulders. “I’ve seen how you were like after Jerkface James dumped you like that. I mean, it was for ‘ _good intentions_ ’ or whatever, but that’s just the thing! It’s going to sound really patronizing coming from me but... I _really_ don’t want you to go through that heartbreak again.”

Pidge hugs herself, the words spilling out without her meaning them to “What if I do?”

“...Do what?”

“What if I want to feel that heartbreak?”

Nadia blinks in confusion. Pidge turns to switch off the television and shifts herself on the couch to curl in on herself further.

“I...I’ve just been so numb for so long,” Pidge rubs her temples, feeling her head throb as it always did when she was overwhelmed. “So many things keep happening at once, and I feel like I’m just drifting through life. I wake up, I go to the labs; I eat, sleep, drink alone and then it’s back to bed and I do it all over again, the same cycle on endless repeat. Lance...he’s a distraction from all that." He was more than just a distraction. But Nadia does not need to know that if she's aligning herself with her ex. "It’s nice to...feel something again.” She reaches for her glasses, her thumb tracing over her brother’s initials engraved on the side of the frame. “My family’s gone...What’s the point of living if I don’t feel _alive_?”

“Katie!” Nadia exclaims, understandably alarmed to hear her talk this way. It pains her to bare a part of herself she'd kept only to herself, even to someone she regards as a sister, but it is cathartic to finally say it out loud. She's done with cowering in fear.

“I’m _trapped,_ Nadia. They got to me. It’s only a matter of time before they-”

“That will _never_ happen,” Nadia interjects firmly. “Look, I hate James’s sorry ass for what he did to you - and I have to admit, I understood _why_ , but he shouldn’t have done it the way he did.” Pidge feels her brushing her hair back gently. “But we are still working together to make sure you’re safe.” 

“It’s not your job to,” Pidge slumps. “It’s nobody’s job. I don’t want to put you guys through-”

“Who said it isn’t?” Nadia frowns. “Pidge, look at me.” 

Pidge reluctantly lifts her head but avoids her friend’s intense gaze. Nadia remains silent and Pidge relents, lifting her eyes slowly to meet hers. 

“When we were just bratty cadets, we took an oath,” Nadia’s gold eyes bore into hers. “ _All_ of us took an oath; to be defenders of Earth. You are important to Earth. Everyone is. Making sure you and your right to use your noggin’ for what _you_ want to do is absolutely part of it. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want. Least of all scare you with death just because you won’t kowtow. You hear?” 

Pidge nods, turning her gaze to her hands. They are her own; she has full control over them. But somehow, she feels it will not last long. And she’d rather be dead than lift them in surrender. 

“But what does any of this have to do with Lance?” By nothing short of a miracle, Pidge manages to say it without her voice trembling. 

Nadia’s lips part and then she closes them. She bites her lip, looking away with a frown. “He...He’s a loose cannon,” she exhales heavily. “Look, James has always been a little too protective but… after hearing what he had to say of his past job...I’m kind of with him on this one. Lance is hot stuff, but we really can’t tell where his loyalties lie.” 

“I trust him,” her voice is soft. She thinks back to the night at the auditorium. His heart racing against her ear, but his arms holding her tightly. His fingers threading through her hair, his calm voice grounding her from a panic attack. It was the safest she’d ever felt. “Isn’t that enough?”

Nadia shifts uncomfortably and Pidge knows she’s about to hear something she will not like. “When there’s...ro- _affectionate_ entanglements-”

“He keeps me company. He takes care of me. He…” Pidge’s vision blurs. Her mind is in a fuzz. She’s not sure if she’s thinking of James or Lance or anyone for the matter. “He...He makes me feel safe.” 

“...babe?” Nadia’s tone falters.

Pidge frowns down at her hands. Maybe Nadia and James aren’t that different from the Garrison. They tell her what to do, who to trust, where to hide...all for her to live with the guilt that her family died in vain. 

“So what if I have feelings for him? What’s so wrong about that?” 

Nadia is silent once more, but she opens her arms and Pidge crawls into them, letting the only other person she trusts with her life hold her close.

“I just want to feel _something_ ,” she whispers. “Before I’m killed.” 

* * *

_One month later_

Lance regrets ever thinking his job was ever too easy or boring. He _wishes_ it is now, as he carefully checks the perimeters of her hotel room. There are far too many points of entry than he is comfortable with, and even with him sleeping one room away (he’s not one to assume anything different), the walls are soundproofed so any cry for help will fall on deaf ears.

"You know it's only for one night, right?" Pidge sighs, leaning against the door frame as she watches him do his rounds. Lance locks the last of the windows, pointedly ignoring her last comment, and she rolls her eyes. As soon as he gives her the signal to enter, she crosses past him and defiantly opens the newly-locked windows, taking in a deep breath of the fresh Parisian air. "You need to let loose a bit. Stop and smell the ros-" she sneezes right then and immediately closes the windows, before she sneezes again.

Lance says a patient "bless you" after each sneeze, trying his hardest not to snort. It is ironic to hear her say such a thing.

"Okay, that was a bad idea. Especially with my allergies." Her sneezes continue as she makes her way into her room; rummaging through her luggage till she finds her antihistamines. "I'm the idiot for organizing the meeting in early summer."

"You picked the most beautiful time, though," Lance looks out to the scenic views her suite offered. Pidge had wanted to stay in a particular historic hotel - the very one her parents had honeymooned in according to his careful research - but Lance knows those places spell nothing but trouble with their secret stairways, hidden servant's doors, and weak structures. She had looked so disappointed at his insistence that he almost gave in, but he remembered himself. If it comes to her safety, a pout or two will have to be resisted. "See, this place isn't so bad. You even have a closer view of the Eiffel tower!"

"I don't care about that tower," Pidge rolls her eyes, lazily dumping her clothes onto her bed, selecting a blouse and pants at random. She turns to him with a raised eyebrow and he sighs, turning away to face a wall. It wasn’t like he already hadn’t seen everything there was to see. "We're not here to be tourists anyway. The meeting with the space agency here should only be for a couple of hours. Then we'll be right back here for dinner and then preparing for Berlin tomorrow.”

"Let me worry about that," Lance shakes his head, gesturing to the view. "C'mon now, you're in Paris! My sister was _seething_ when she found out I'm headed there. Don't chicks dream about visiting the city of love at least once in their lifetime?"

"What good is it to me?" He hears Pidge grumble under her breath, but he pretends he hasn’t heard her and ignores the stab in his heart. 

Lance is more than aware of her struggles with loneliness and he does not know why, but he feels it is his duty to fight it. Even if it means putting his job on the line and having James skin him alive. 

It's a sense of duty he's sure goes well beyond his actual duties to her, but he could only put down the reason for his actions with a strong desire to see her smile. One of her genuine, wide smiles that never fails to send the weirdest sensations in his chest.

He hopes to see it tonight.

He hears the creak of the bed and he slowly turns to her, watching her tie her dress shoes silently, fighting back his smile. It's difficult not to spill his plans, but he knows he needs to be patient. Knowing her, she'll find reason to avoid and he could not afford to have her bail on him.

When she turns away from him to organise her notes, he allows the smile on his face to return. 

This is a day he has long awaited for, both with trepidation and excitement. Excitement, because he can finally set to motion his careful plans, trepidation because he knows how delicate the operation is going to be. 

Planning for the day has allowed him to push aside the haunting reminder of what is being expected of him by upper management and he supposes, James as well. He’s tempted to talk to her about it, but knowing her tendency to worry, he has decided against it, praying that it is for the best. 

For now, he wants to concern himself in seeing her smile. The same soft smile of contentment when she’s asleep in his arms, allowing him to sleep just as serenely next to her without a single nightmare to disturb his peace. The trauma-filled day that gave him his scars would often return to haunt him in his dreams, but with her soft breaths and her warm body clinging to his, the nightmares have not reared since.

He walks up to her, a hand lifting to stroke through the hair from the back of her head, but he resists. Pidge is too engrossed in her notes to notice him. It’s been a long while since they’ve been intimate and as much as he craves her touch, her flushed skin pressed to his, his job is always to come to the forefront. 

He retracts his hand and excuses himself from her room, reaching for his phone to go over his plans once more. He simply can’t wait to surprise her. 

* * *

“Has this been approved by Griffin?” Ina asks, cooly inspecting the plans laid before her. Lance gulps and turns his eyes to Ryan who shakes his head. 

To his relief, Ryan clears his throat. “We...we are kind of going rogue here. Serrano figured it’s better that fewer people know where she’s headed. Especially since she’s going to be in such a public setting.” 

“It’s an exclusive restaurant,” Lance speaks up, pointing to the floor map. “It’s a terrace,the only points of access being through the regular entrance and climbing down from the roof from the next building.” 

“I’m positioning myself here,” Ryan nods, pulling out the map for the neighboring building, gesturing to a corner. “You can take either the interior of the hotel or the lobby outside the restaurant. Anderson will take the other, he’s given you first pick.” 

Lance waits with bated breath as their colleague examines the plans. She hardly shows any emotion ever, so Lance isn’t sure what sort of reaction he’s waiting for, but he hopes she does not find a flaw in his careful planning. He’s been organizing this day for weeks and he could not afford to have a single piece out of place. 

And a phone call to Griffin would most certainly mess everything up. 

Ina's expressionless eyes examine the plans again, her gaze flickering occasionally to the routes, maps and the timetable he had gone to great pains to assembling before finally speaking up. “It seems fine. However, I’m not sure if I am alright with Griffin not knowing of this.” 

“If it’ll make you feel better, Pid- Dr. Holt would probably not want him to worry about her,” Lance assures her, already feeling great excitement. “He’s very protective of her and I just feel like she deserves to go somewhere beautiful for once. As an ordinary civilian.” 

Ryan nods slowly in agreement, turning to her with raised eyebrows. Ina blinks and is silent for several moments, but she finally gives a curt nod. Lance’s shoulders slump in relief. The operation was a go. 

“I brought lunch!” Anderson, the newest member of their team, cheerily calls out as he walks into the meeting room. Even as a new addition, he's been nothing short of enthusiastic of his plans and Lance is grateful for it. He sets the takeaway boxes on the table and glances around him with a smile. “Are you guys done planning?” 

“Yup, Leif’s been briefed,” Lance carefully examines the maps once more, thinking of any possible holes in his plan. Ina, one who has proven to have a scarily acute sense of evaluating the success of plans appeared to be unperturbed and Lance had been counting on her to point out any flaws. 

“Awesome,” Anderson takes a sip from a paper cup, giving him a wide grin and a thumbs up. “It’ll be good to give the boss lady the rest she deserves.” 

* * *

Lance drums his fingers against the dashboard. He glances at his watch and sighs. There is still five minutes before she's due to leave the gates, but the only available reservation in the restaurant is in twenty minutes and he does not want to lose their spot. Beyond that, it took _a lot_ of careful planning with the ground team and he’d planned it down to the minute of her exact location so they knew where she was going to be at all times. He knows how much of a risk it is to take her out so openly - and to a _rooftop_ restaurant of all places - but it was one he had caught her eyeing many weeks ago when she’d been planning her itinerary. 

Most of all, being left to his own devices meant his mind ran wild. If he isn’t shoving away inappropriate thoughts of her gasping his name, it’s to the other more distressing end of his thoughts. His annoying boss, his even more annoying boss’s _boss_ and their words to him a week before.

_“I will be direct, Serrano. I require a full report on the various activities Dr Holt undertakes in the week. This will include specifics on the nature of the meetings she conducts, in particular with any foreign entities as well as the details of her experiments.”_

_“Isn’t that...a violation of my contract? I was told I could not look too closely at her experiments or any of her work. And….well, she has a right to privacy.”_

_Sanda looks at him square in the eye, sending a chill down his spine. “Matters of global security renders privacy a trivial matter. I’m sure an agent such as yourself should understand that.”_

_Lance shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, glancing back down at the untouched, tepid glass of water placed before him._

_“I do not require details of her personal affairs. Simply the species of alien she interacts with, the agenda of the meetings as well as the blueprints of her inventions.”_

_Lance gapes. “But-”_

_“You are a Garrison agent, Serrano,” Sanda’s eyes narrow. “Your duty is to_ us _, first and foremost.”_

His nails dig into his palms and it’s not till he feels the sharp pricks to his skin does he relax his fingers. James’s commanding voice follows in his ear.

 _"Remember who you're_ really _supposed to protect."_

He knows James thinks so little of him, he'd probably said it to mock his intelligence. But there's something in the back of his mind that tells him there's more to it. Lance's entire duty is to protect her; of course it is. What else was a bodyguard supposed to do? 

Who the hell was he supposed to listen to? Not that he particularly cares about being obedient of course. Bedding his principal proves it, as much it still mortifies him. 

Next to him, the driver sets down his newspaper and looks over to him in amusement.

" _Tout à fait l'amant agité que vous êtes._ " The man chuckles. " _Ne vous inquiétez pas. Elle sera bientôt dehors._ "

Lance blinks at the man and feels his cheeks warm. He only understands bits and pieces, but he knows enough of the romance languages to get the gist.

"I'm- uh. I'm not her... lover."

"Ah, yes," the man sneers. " _Bodyguard_." He winks and then chuckles to himself again, turning back to his newspaper as Lance squirms in his seat. It makes him wonder if it is more than apparent to the outside world how he feels about her when he's barely sure of it himself. 

_Was_ he a lover? Yes, he slept with her but he imagines Pidge does not regard it the same. He does not know why the thought makes his heart ache, but he shoves the thought as soon as it came and glances yet again at his watch.

Pidge is never one to dawdle in engagements or stay for the canapes. As soon as the meeting is over, he knows she will be out the door. His earpiece crackles to life and his ground team confirms her exit from the meeting room. He runs a quick scan down the streets, keeping an eye out for any unusual figures. He leaves the taxi, buttoning his suit and walking up the stairs to wait by the doors. 

She breezes past him and Lance scrambles after her, beating her to the door and opening it for her triumphantly.

"You're not my chauffeur," she sighs, giving him a smile nonetheless before dipping her head as she enters the car.

Lance seats himself back next to the driver, giving him a nod. He mumbles a confirmation of Pidge’s arrival to his ear piece and reaches for his phone, squinting down the line of suggested wines and dishes Hunk had sent over.

"How do you feel about French for dinner?"

Pidge shrugs, her laptop already pulled out and her furiously typing notes into it. "Just have it sent to my room." Lance reaches behind him and grabs the computer, ignoring her startled protests. "No more work. You’re done for the day."

"You can't do that!"

"Of course I can." 

Pidge sputters and from the mirror, he sees her pout. She pulls herself close behind his seat and attempts to reach around for her laptop. Thankfully for him, she had short arms.

"You can't interfere with my work! It's probably one of the rules," she grunts, her fingers grasping accidentally at his belt. Lance gulps and carefully pries her hand away, ignoring the driver's wagging eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t give a fuck about rules.”

"Well… no, I-” she sputters, before catching the amused look in his face. “Lance! This isn't funny!"

"You'll have it back as soon as you’re done with dinner. The world can do without Dr. Katerina Holt for an hour."

Pidge groans and collapses against his seat. "Where are you taking me?!"

"You'll see," Lance promises, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

* * *

"How the _hell_ did you manage to get a reservation?" Pidge stares around her dumbfounded.

Lance keeps himself vigilant, knowing here on out, he has to be on his toes. Kinkade had promised not to breathe a word of it to Griffin, but he knows if anything goes wrong, it's not just his own head that's on the chopping block.

He leads her through small, intimate tables of dining couples to the edge of the terrace, pulling her forward towards the panoramic views of the city. He’s confident now that he’s made the right choice. It took hours of pouring through tourist images and squinting at the background of photos, but he’s certain this is the place. 

Pidge turns to him, her lips still parted in awe.

"I managed to pull a few favors," he shrugs nonchalantly. By which he meant shamelessly begging the manager and cooking up a story that his ‘wife’ desperately wants to visit the restaurant her parents had gone to on their honeymoon. At least, half of the story is true.

"Did you promise your firstborn?" she laughs. She turns her gaze back to the view and leaning over the edge to look over the city with the widest smile that brings back the strange sensations in his chest whenever he's with her. For a moment, he allows himself to admire her. She's in her usual work clothes - practically a uniform - a plain green blouse, black shoes and pants. She wears no makeup and her hair is in its usual wild state and yet, with her wide grin and bright eyes, he could not see a more stunning woman in sight. Even with the most spectacular sunset before them - vibrant pinks and oranges bleeding through the clouds - he can’t tear his eyes away from her.

He shakes his head to break out of his daydream and as always, rests a hand gently against the small of her back. "Your table's this way," Lance steers her away, but her eyes are still glued to the view. The sun is setting and gave the skies a pink-orange glow over the city. Paris came to life before their very eyes, night lights switching on by the time they are seated at their table. Lance pulls out the chair for her, waiting for her to settle in before gesturing for the waiter. 

“I’ll just be over at the corner over there if you need-”

“Wait, you aren’t eating with me?” 

“...No?”

The look of disappointment that crosses her face stuns him and like the weak fool he is for her, he’s already primed to give in to whatever she wishes. 

“Sit with me,” her eyes are diverted away, but there’s a degree of insistence in her voice that surprises him. “Please.”

Lance hesitates, glancing around till he spots Kinkade’s shadow in the next building. He thinks for a moment before slowly seating himself before her. “I’ll sit, but I’m still on duty.” The smile returns to her face, much to his relief. 

“That’s alright, I’ll just feed you.” 

Lance coughs and turns his gaze away before she could see his cheeks flush. He distractedly adjusts his tie and opens the menu for her. "It's on me, order whatever you like."

"No way! This place is ridiculously expensive. Let-"

"Don't worry, my boss pays me well," he nods to the sunset with a smile. "Take it as a thank you for the delicious baked ziti.”

Pidge laughs - a free, unrestrained laugh - and it takes everything in him to not grin like an idiot. This is exactly what he had hoped for.

“You know... my parents honeymooned here,” she picks up her menu, looking at him with a coy smile. “They even came to this exact restaurant.”

“Really? What a nice coincidence.” He pretends to flip through the menu, occasionally lifting his eyes to do a perimeter check. “I did not know that.”

“You _knew_ .” Her eyes are bright and on her lips - to his _utmost_ satisfaction - the wide grin he's been waiting for all day. 

“I am a specialist agent ma’am,” he admits with a wink.

* * *

_Later that night  
  
_

"Thank you for dinner," Pidge whispers. They are in the hotel lift and though they are alone and it certainly isn't the first time, there's a sort of forbidden thrill in having her so close to him. Her hand is tucked into the corner of his arm, and she leans her cheek against his shoulder gently. He can't see her face, but he knows that one of her soft smiles - the one that she only makes when she thinks one is watching - is playing on her lips. He reaches up to brush his other hand over her fingers, before abruptly pulling them away as the lift dings, telling them they’ve reached their floor.

Her hand drops from his as other hotel guests pass them by and the moment is lost, but Lance knows it's best not to dwell on it. Instead, he reminds himself of one single fact. She's his charge, nothing more.

Ryan and Ina greet them by her door and he sends a discrete smile their way. Considering how happy Pidge is, he owes them _big_ time for helping him make this night a possibility. 

He makes her wait by the doorway like always as he does his rounds, ignoring her groans and protests at his dedication to his job. 

"All clear," he returns to her, his hands on his hips. She's docile this evening, having not yet demanded the return of her precious laptop so that she can work herself to the point of unconsciousness. But he reasons that she must be tired after the night's little not-date. "Another long day tomorrow, we're doing it all over again." His voice is noticeably softer - he is bound to get mocked in his meetings with his ground team for it - and he steps closer to her. Her eyes are trained on his shoes as he approaches. He reaches around her to close the door, locking it and putting them effectively out of earshot from his colleagues. His hand rests still against the doorknob, Pidge still in between. He gently tilts her head up to look at him. “You should get to bed.” 

He tries not to stare at her lips, still stained pink from the dessert wine she had with her souffle. He can only imagine how sweet she will taste and he knows his gaze is hungry.

Pidge's eyes are half-lidded, looking up at him with the adoring gaze that never fails to make his knees weak.

“What if I don’t want to?” Her voice is soft and just a _touch_ sultry but it’s enough to ensnare him. There’s a teasing tone to her words and her eyes challenge him. He takes in a shaky, prolonged breath. Already, he yearns to have her pressed beneath him, begging for mercy. But he somehow manages to restrain himself.

He does not know if the flush on her cheeks is due to the singular glass of wine she had, but he knows his own blush is not. Her breathing is shallow and her hands lift to fumble with his tie. He dares not move an inch, even though whatever's left of his rational senses demands he does.

A hand finds a way to his cheek and Lance watches her gaze fix on his lips.

"If you don't want this...pull away." Pidge searches his eyes and he knows they reflect the desire, _hunger_ he feels. Yet, he does not move, as much as his fingers twitch to make quick work of her clothes. 

She leans forward, tracing the tip of her nose down the side of his neck. He shivers as her lips brush over his throat and her hands slide up his chest. He curses the thick barrier of his ballistic vest. He needs to feel her. _Now_.

Pidge doesn't make him wait. She tugs him down by his tie with surprising strength, and seals her lips over his.

* * *

_The next morning_

Pidge wakes up to an empty bed. 

She blinks and sleepily assesses the room. Last night, it had been something of a warzone. Their clothes flying as they clumsily stumbled their way to her bed, each layer of clothing thrown aside without a care. And yet, she finds her clothes neatly folded and set at the foot of her bed. 

She hugs the sheets close to herself, shivering a little as she rolled to his side of the bed to bask in his faint scent. She closes her eyes and she pictures him again. How his eyes glimmered in the candlelight over dinner, looking at her in ways she is sure dozens have swooned over. 

It's probably the best "not-date" she's been on in her life. Especially, she regards with a blush, with the after dinner entertainment.

She imagines him hovering over her as he rained kisses on her heated skin and giving her pleasure with that immensely talented tongue of his. She pressed her thighs together with a soft moan, remembering the exact moment she gasped his name as her mind blacked out and her body lay limp beneath him. She remembers his smug chuckle when he nuzzled her cheek before she silenced him with a bruising kiss as she pushed herself on top, eager to return the favor as he squirmed underneath her downward trail of kisses.

There’a soft knock to her door and Pidge is forcibly torn out of her thoughts. Her cheeks burn and she scrambled to hide her body beneath her sheets.

“Dr. Holt? Are you alright?” A soft, familiar voice comes from behind the door and Pidge’s shoulders relax in relief.

“I’m fine, Ina. Thank you.” 

Pidge waits till she hears her footsteps walk away and she grabs a pillow to groan into. She refuses to think she’s that weak. She tosses the pillow aside and a sigh escapes her lips as she stares up at the light fixture on the ceiling - a fancy chandelier with dangling crystals that glimmered with the sunlight streaming through the large windows. 

Even with all the soreness in her muscles, her hammering heart and a day ahead of her packed to the brim with more onerous work commitments, she feels...content. A feeling she has not thought she’d take for granted. 

This is the exact feeling she desires. Her mind is not racing. For once, there are no meetings to run to, no investors to impress and most importantly, no fear of Garrison spies. 

Her eyes find a folded piece of paper on the bedside table and a beautiful little pink French rose rests on top of it. 

_Away for a meeting with the team. Ina’s taking over till I’m back._

_\- L_

_P.S. Found a way for you to stop and smell the roses without sneezing_

Pidge blinks and reaches for the rose. It’s not until she runs her fingertips over the petals, does she realize it’s made of silk. She laughs lightly, pulling herself out of bed to carefully place the rose in her bag. It's a perfect replica of the roses that lined her suite's balcony. That’s a souvenir she knows she will keep, perhaps even cherish.

As she pads to the shower, she runs through her mental schedule. Their portal to Berlin is booked for the afternoon and she will have a dinner meeting with the officials of the space agency there. Then, it’ll be a portal to Sweden the following morning and a brunch meeting with the Garrison branch stationed there.

She closes her eyes and wets her hair, working the shampoo carefully into her locks, her treacherous mind drifting to Lance’s long fingers running through her hair. The thought alone warms her up in an instant and she finds herself yearning for his tall, lean form to press against her back.

As she soaps up her body, her heart flutters as she recalls his hands trailing across her skin and her fingers find themselves drifting downwards. She thinks of his dark blue eyes, half-lidded and focused on her as he brings her to the greatest pinnacle of pleasure. Her skin is alight with pleasant warmth and her body shudders.

And even without him there, she finds it again.

She hurriedly washes the suds off and fumbles with the taps. Pidge steps out of the shower shakily, wrapping herself tightly with a towel and leaning heavily against the sink. She covers her heated face and groans. Nadia was right. She has it _bad_.

She tries to shake her head to get rid of the thoughts; there’s another day ahead of her with him by her side. She cannot afford to be a love-struck, hormone-addled teenager. She is an _adult_ with big responsibilities. One of which, was to not allow 'distractions' to interfere with her work.

Pidge picks out a turtleneck from her suitcase, even with the summery warmth outside. At some point, she’s sure this is going to turn into an inside joke amongst the ground team; the eclectic visionary who lives on a wardrobe of turtlenecks.

As she dresses, the thought of the other members of her other security detail makes her pause. Ina hasn’t checked on her for almost an hour. 

“Ina?” she calls out aloud, her breath held as she awaits a response. Deafening silence greets her in turn.

She tries to reason with herself that her guard’s probably outside, waiting by the front door, but it is a condition that her appointed personal guard was always within hearing reach and the lack of response tells her she isn’t.

Pidge strains to hear any noises from the living room, pressing her ear to the door. The windows are shut and she's unable to hear the usual bustle of the streets below. She tries her name again and quickly feels a tight knot forming in her stomach as her voice reverberates in her room. 

Her first thought is to call Lance and she quietly pads to the study where she'd left her phone to charge the night before. Her feet still as soon as she notices it missing. Once again, though her rational brain protests, she reasons she must have left it in the living room.

She carefully steps out of her room, her heart in her throat as she makes her way out into the sitting room of her suite. An impending sense of dread overcomes her as she approaches the end of the hallway, turning into the room.

Instead of the tall, blonde woman, she sees a man by the front door. He does not look familiar but he’s dressed in a suit with the Garrison pin on his lapel and that eases her anxiety momentarily. But as she approaches the man to query after Ina, she spots a slumped figure by his feet, hidden behind the couch. A figure of a woman with familiar cropped blonde hair.

Her body freezes and she hears the cock of a gun. She doesn’t dare breathe nor move an inch, but her eyes lift slowly to the man.

He’s pointing it at her.

"Arms up, sweetheart," the man sneers, stepping over Ina’s body.

Pidge recognises the model immediately. It’s an old prototype she’s only seen plans of in her father’s study. A Galran long-range laser, disguised as a small, human-made rifle. One shot could melt skin and bone, tear through human flesh like a hot knife through butter. It is enough to kill her in an instant. 

She shakily lifts her arms, already feeling the tell-tale quiver in her hands as a panic attack brews. She's imagined exact scenarios such as these and yet, none of those could prepare her for the sheer fright that grips her at the moment. Immobilizing her and preventing whatever plans she had planned for herself in such a bind. Her heart pumps erratically, her skin cold and clammy. Her eyes keep darting back, wishing Lance would emerge from the adjacent room, but she knows it is moot. He's not in the suite and any screaming will fall on deaf ears.

She forces herself to keep her breaths steady, remembering the breathing pattern Lance had taught her. It's not as effective as his presence, but she does it as she feels as though she's about to pass out.

"Lay yourself on the floor, hands over your head." He walks closer to her and presses his hand down against the top of her head, forcing her down. Pidge doesn't resist, shakily laying herself on the carpet as the man presses the muzzle against the back of her head. The cold metal is harsh against the base of her skull and she feels the pinch of a sharp edge press uncomfortably against her skin. Her eyes close tight and she fills her anguished mind with images of her family. It gives her a sense of ease as she sees her parents' smiling faces and then her brother's wide grin; the last one he had given her before she never saw him again. 

Maybe this isn't so bad. She'll see them again.

She sees dark blue eyes next and her heart lurches. She won't see him again; not even to say goodbye or receive those sweet, gentle kisses of his that always leave her craving for more. At least he’s given her a sense of what being in love felt like. Even if it may be a ruse on his part, she’s grateful to him and she only wishes she could tell him how she truly feels - _has felt_ \- since she was fifteen. 

Pidge hears a click and buzz of the laser activating and she braces herself. The nuzzle rapidly warms and she winces as it begins to burn her skin. 

She won't be lonely anymore.

"Now, this will be quick and painle-"

She hears the shatter of glass and a gunshot and screams as a body slumps over her. Warmth blooms across her chest and it seeps through her shirt and to her skin. It's not till the smell of iron fills her nostrils does she realize it’s blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, screams and kudos always loved! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning. This is un-betaed. I edit mistakes as I spot them. ^^; 
> 
> Also, double emphasis on the M rating for this chapter. If you're not old enough to read this, run away!

_One month prior_

"Am I in trouble, Sir?”

Lance doesn’t mean to sound as teasing as he does, but luckily for him, James appears to be far too occupied with something else on his mind to notice.

He passes Kinkade by the door, who gives him a curt nod as he always does; taking his leave from his post to join the rest of the ground team. He gives a strange look - a lot of people have been giving him that lately - a look at James and back to him. Lance can only shrug. Kinkade sighs and turns, passing through the many layers of frosted glass doors.

James' steps finally halt abruptly and Lance catches himself just in time before he bumps into his back. His boss' shoulders are tense, and a sense of dread overcomes Lance. It had only been a few hours, he can't already know what Pidge and himself had gotten themselves into last night.

Was that why Kinkade was giving him strange looks?

"I still don't think you are anywhere near qualified to protect Ka- Dr. Holt, but I have no choice in this matter. Agent Shirogane is still somehow convinced that you are the man for the job."

Lance so badly wants to ask him why he thought he was so utterly incompetent. So far, his job has been smooth sailing. He actually looks forward to seeing her now, on a daily basis. It feels less of a chore than waking up at the crack of dawn to do repeated drills at the Garrison. Sure, it bores him sometimes but the precious moments in between when it is just her and him... he can't ever say he's entirely bored.

"I will only ask this once.” James pauses for a moment, carefully inspecting his facial expression as he asks. “Who are you loyal to?"

Lance blinks. It’s not the question he expects.

"...Pi- Ah- Dr.Holt, of course."

Lance watches James' shoulders relax but feels his own tense up as he turns to stare at him. It looks as if he’s restraining himself from prodding further. His eyes look directly into his, as if searching his soul. James does this often, he notices. Size him up, give him strange stares and, as he did that morning, call at the strangest hours to "check" on him. He's being monitored for some reason. He isn't sure what he's done to deserve such a treatment.

"Sir, is something wrong?" Lance asks placidly, growing impatient. His morning started with a confusing meeting from Sanda instead of one of Pidge's small, sleepy smiles and it feels like the day isn't going to get any better.

“Things are going to get different…”

“What...kind of different?” 

It's clear, maybe somewhat endearing, that this man loves Pidge. Loves her enough to make sure her safety is guaranteed. Loves her enough to shake up her own bodyguard. He wonders if James covets his position - the opportunity to be as close to her as possible - and it dawns quickly on Lance that he certainly wasn't the first bodyguard she slept with.

He refuses to let the thought bother him. 

James drops his gaze to his own perfectly polished, dress shoes. He takes a deep breath before speaking up. "Remember... who you're really supposed to protect." 

With that, James turns on his heel and leaves him utterly confounded.

* * *

_Present day_

"Dr Holt!"

"Pidge!"

The body is rolled off of her and it allows her to take a gasping breath. Pidge doesn’t even realize till she’s gasping for that she has been holding her breath. An arm wraps around her and a worried hand rests on her cheek. She recognises the calloused fingers immediately.

"...Lance?"

"I'm here," his voice is firm, but there's just a hint of shakiness. Her eyes flutter open and she's treated to the heavenly blues of his eyes, now wide and panicked. "I'm here..." It's less resolute now and there's a look of relief washing over his face as he inspects her body, making sure she is not injured.

Her hand shakily raises to rest over his hand as his thumb caresses over her cheek. There's a look in his eyes she can’t quite place, but he moves away before she can ask. She attempts craning her head to look at the body but Lance blocks her way as he gently tips her face up.

It is only then, does the dizzying mirage of his eyes dissipate and she notices the dark red streak across his cheek. Blood oozes down his cheekbone in a single, slow stream. Her eyes widen and a distressed sound escapes her throat, but she's still too shaken to have her full bearings.

"Easy now, I'm alright," Lance soothes. His warm hand slowly slips away from her cheek and he's slowly easing her up, letting her fall back against his chest for support.

"You're...hurt," Pidge rasps, her head swimming as she cranes her head. There’s still a sharp sting on her neck and the phantom pressure of the rifle still firmly pressed there. She slumps her head against his shoulder, looking up worriedly at the blood on his cheek.

His fingers brush back her hair, just as he did the night before, right as she was drifting off to sleep in his arms. "It's just a cut," he whispers. He nestles her carefully against his chest and she feels his arm slide beneath her legs. He lifts her and sets her gently down on the couch. Pidge grabs the lapel of his coat before he can pull away.

"Ina..."

"Ryan's taking care of her," he nods behind the couch. "She's alright. He drugged our lunches. Luckily, I was away taking a call before I could take a bite and Ryan’s the one who spotted something off with the food."

"He's gone?"

Lance blinks at her and it takes him a while before he realizes that she's talking about the gunman. He gently pries her fingers from his coat and holds it, squeezing her hand gently in the soothing way only he knows. He kneels next to the couch and nods. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"...He's dead?"

Lance hesitates and glances up, presumably at Kinkade as she hears a familiar, deep voice in the background talking to him in low tones. His brows furrow and she resists the urge to smooth it over with her fingers as she does when he sleeps next to her.

"You don't have to worry about that," he turns back to her and drops a discrete kiss to her hand. "That's my job."

“Serrano.” Lance looks behind him now, just as Kinkade throws a blanket over the dead man. “Griffin’s on his way. We should get ready to leave.” 

“Right.” 

Pidge attempts wriggling upright but Lance gently pushes her down again by her shoulders. 

“You’re in shock. You need to rest.” 

“I’m _fine_.”

“Rest.” He’s insistent now, and there’s even a brief look of annoyance that melts away to concern as she rubs the back of her neck. The burn is relatively mild, but it does sting and her skin feels uncomfortably tight. “I’ve got something for that.”

Pidge attempts grasping for him before he leaves but he’s gone in a flash, disappearing into his room. He returns a few minutes later with a small first aid kit and produces a vial of bright blue liquid. 

“It’s for my scars. But I’m pretty sure it’ll help burns too.” 

He sanitises his hands and beckons her to shift to her side. Pidge can’t see what he is doing, but her mind zeroes on his fingertips. She’s still shaky - adrenaline feels like fire in her veins - but there’s a confusing arousal as Lance’s fingertips brush against the nape of her neck. He applies a thick layer and she braces for a sting. Instead, a pleasant cooling sensation masks the irritation on her skin and she sighs in contentment. 

Altean miracle salves; brewed with the genetically modified juniper lily extracts her mother helped engineer. It's a true miracle in a vial that lends a comforting touch; just as her mother’s had been.

Lance’s fingers rest briefly on the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing along the outer curve of her burn mark gently. She can sense that he’s pensive and before she can shift back to see his face, he’s pulled his hand away. 

“I’ll pack your things. Don’t worry, Ryan’s right behind you.”

A part of her wants to command him to stay, to make sure that he’s always in her line of vision. But she just gives a weak nod, watching his broad back disappear down the small corridor to her room. 

“Doing alright, Dr. Holt? Need anything?” 

Kinkade’s head peeks from above her and she gives a small smile with a shake of her head. “Besides really wanting to clean this blood off me, no. I’m alive. Thanks to you.” 

He shakes his head and returns the smile. “I believe Serrano deserves credit for that. Sharpshooter is the right name for sure. That was one hell of a bullseye; through glass, too.” 

“Was that why there’s a cut on his cheek?”

Kinkade nods. “Didn’t even have to do that either. The windows weren’t locked. He saw you on the floor and his hand just went straight to his holster. Can’t say I blame him.” 

He gives her a knowing look and Pidge’s cheeks warm. It makes her realize Lance and herself have not been the most discrete around the ground team. 

“Did you know him well?” she gestures to the blanketed figure on the floor, still numb to the thought that it could have easily been her body beneath the blanket. 

“Briefly,” Kinkade frowns as he stares at it. “Can’t say we were all that attached to him.” It’s hard for her to imagine that a new colleague can quickly turn into an enemy in their line of work. She supposes it applies to her as well. Kinkade sighs heavily and shakes his head. “But I did think it was weird we had a new team mate one day before you were due to leave.”

Pidge takes a moment to process the new information. So he was a planted goon. The question is, who was he taking orders from? 

“Did...James pick him?”

Kinkade shakes his head. “Nope. Griffin was furious. It went past him. He was put in by someone higher up the chain.”

A soft groan comes from behind the couch and Kinkade shifts immediately back, soothing an awakening Ina and leaving Pidge with a racing mind yet again. 

* * *

Lance glances at his watch, sighing impatiently. Griffin’s not due for another minute but he still can’t help being restless. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst. Sure, Pidge is alive. He's done his job. But she's not _fully_ unharmed and that frustrates him more than any other thought. Even if his boss-who-hates-his-guts is seconds away from tearing him apart. 

He still feels a sense of rage whenever he sees the pink ring at the base of Pidge’s neck; soft skin singed with burns from a quickly warming laser. A reminder that she had been seconds away from death - all thanks to his own negligence.

Kinkade reassures him that he's likely to receive praise - but Lance is sceptical. From all he gathers from James, it's way more likely that he's going to receive yet _another_ dressing down and possibly even use it as an excuse with Shiro to demote him. Maybe even fire him.But his mind doesn’t linger on that much longer. 

His fingers itch to touch her. 

Since the incident, being apart from her made him more antsy than he can ever expect. He anticipates from now on, she’ll have stricter protocols. She will not ever leave her home without a bulletproof vest and it’s very likely she won’t be permitted any guests for the foreseeable future. A tighter jail sentence more like, and a greater portion of her already squandered freedom surrendered to the Garrison. 

She needs comfort, not more stifling rules that caged her further.

James practically storms into the suite and Lance is sure the walls shake with his steps. His boss' eyes find his and he flinches for the first time. The sheer _fury_ in them is unnerving.

"Where is she?" He asks darkly.

"In her room, resting." Lance nods to the corridor behind him. "Kinkade and Ina are right next to her."

He imagines she does not enjoy needing two agents right inside her room, both stationed next to the window. The small semblance of privacy she had before now fully diminished.

"I knew something like this would happen," James shakes his head in disapproval. His brown eyes flash with anger. "You are not what she needs."

Lance takes in breath, ready to calm himself before James let loose. The man's glare is scorching, but he refuses to be burned. "I take responsibility," he nods, knowing full well it isn't going to help his cause.

"Of course you will. Her life _is_ your responsibility! You're ridiculously lucky it isn't _her_ body we're carting back to the Garrison!"

The thought of that alone makes him nauseous, but he keeps a straight face, taking his reprimand as best as he could. James does well in not yelling and quite possibly scaring the other hotel guests off the building, but it's no less menacing. For the next few minutes, James chews him out and Lance just allows the man to take his frustrations out on him. He's as disappointed - if not more - of himself as James is and he deserves it.

"And don't think I don't know a thing about your _trysts_. I knew you couldn't keep your hands off of her."

"Just tending to her needs, Sir." Lance doesn't know how he delivers the line with a straight face. Regardless, it still makes James' face redder than a tomato.

"You have a lot of nerve-"

"My body isn’t mine, it’s hers." He doesn't know what’s overcome him. He's dangerously close - if he hasn't already outright _violated_ \- to getting fired for insubordination. And probably from James' point of view, screwing his ex. Doesn’t help either that he’s fighting back a smirk throwing James’ own words back at him.

James fumes. "You think I don't know how this goes? She'll pout and you'll wag your tail?” He shakes his head. “You’re not special Serrano."

The remark stings. Just a tiny bit. But Lance knows not to take it personally. The man's jealous. He knows for sure now, especially with all the venomous envy that drips off his boss's voice. 

"Cancel the rest of the trip. She's going straight back to Plaht."

"Of course. I've already called Berlin."

"Without consulting with me first?" James raises an eyebrow.

"It’s protocol."

“Protocol in this division requires approval from a superior.” 

Lance inhales sharply and quietly counts to three. “My apologies, Sir. I was only thinking of her well-being.” 

James squints at him, but dismisses pressing the issue the further with a heavy sigh. A temporary truce, he’ll take it. 

“I’m...sorry,” James sighs. A little begrudgingly, he adds. “You saved her life. Good job.” Lance resists the urge to clean out his ears. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “But, don’t let....the _other_ things distract you,” James continues sternly. 

“O-of course,” Lance mumbles, his cheeks burning. One weird event after the other. It’s a hell of a day. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“What?”

“How did he get picked? They picked up nothing from background checks?”

"They thought he was safe because he was a man from our ranks,” James rubs his eyes tiredly, his demeanor remarkably muted. “Turns out, he’s just using a dead agent’s name."

Lance stills. "Who is he?"

"The name we have on file is Daniel Anderson. But we have new intelligence that he's not who he says he is."

"He's not even human?!"

James shakes his head slowly. "Apparently not. We don't know how long he's been around. Apparently, he'd taken on the identity of an agent who'd gone MIA a year ago, now presumed dead. His wife had been reported saying he hasn't been himself but her concerns were dismissed as PTSD on his end."

"So what you're saying is...the Garrison's compromised?" His heart thuds louder in his ears. Maybe James was right, he's severely under-qualified to look after Pidge. Not when he'd underestimated the danger to her life.

James stills for a moment and turns to him. "That's been true for a long while now." He gives him a stern look. “But that’s something you will have to take with you to your grave.” 

Lance frowns and opens his mouth to inquire more, but James has already turned on his heel and into Pidge’s suite.

* * *

_That night_

“I heard James chewing you out,” Pidge starts awkwardly, setting down her backpack on one of her kitchen stools. “I’m sorry about that.”

It comes to no surprise to her that James ordered her straight home. Back to the cold, lonely box that was her apartment. All of her other meetings will have to take place over video conferencing and it frustrates her that the one time she had an excuse to leave the glass cage of the Garrison labs, it backfires. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“But it is though,” her eyes go to the floor. “I heard about...the trysts thing.” 

Lance gives a short laugh and sets down her luggage. He tucks his hands into his pockets and sighs. “That was bound to happen. I thought I’d get fired over that but Kinkade says it’s way more common than one would think.”

Pidge’s brows raise high in surprise. “Wait- really?” 

Lance shrugs. “Central control doesn’t care as much because they think it’ll make us more effective in our jobs.” His eyes go to her neck and she knows he’s thinking of the faded pink ring at the nape. “I can’t help but think that’s true.” 

She fumbles with the edge of her hoodie, the tips of her ears warm. “Effective how?”

A corner of his lips lift. Pidge hates when he does that. It’s one of his snarkier smiles. “We’d be more willing to take a bullet for you, for example. No hesitation.” 

She thinks back to the conversation she had with Kinkade. How Lance had smashed through a window to aim his gun at the man. No hesitation. No moment to lose. 

Pidge reasons it’s his job scope. Any other bodyguard would have done the same. 

“Well, you’ve done well at your job.” She clears her throat and rummages her backpack for her laptop. With her back turned to him, he doesn’t have to see her red face. “Hopefully this means you’ll get promoted back to your old one.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” 

Relief consumes her and it gives a momentary reprieve from the shakiness she feels. She’d hoped it would go away with her afternoon nap, but it persists. Her security has doubled - they had walked past extra rows of Garrison guards from her hallway - but she doesn’t feel any safer. It’s a feeling she only gets when Lance holds her. 

“I have a question.” 

Pidge blinks at the sudden question, but nods. “Of course.”

“It’s a personal one,” Lance warns, looking right into her eyes when he wants her to know he’s serious.

Pidge retrieves a decanter and sets it in front of him with two glasses. “Really, go ahead. We have the night.” 

* * *

James runs a hand through his hair tiredly, hoisting his overnight bag higher on his shoulder. At some point in his young, naive boyhood, he would have guessed a job with a description of "frequent travel required" would be glamorous. Oh, how wrong he was.

Tonight, he returns to his apartment after waiting for an autopsy report on an alien being who almost killed his ex-girlfriend. Most of it, lies. Nothing new there. But right now, he has a encrypted file to send to Shiro and then a nice, long hot shower to quell the anxiety in his bones.

A part of him wonders if there will ever come a time in his job where he will not have to think of her anymore, but a chill overcomes him when he realises how close to it he came to today.

As he rounds the corner towards his door, he stops as a hooded figure waits for him. His muscles tense, ready for a potential fight, but he catches a glint of gold eyes.

"Nadia," her name comes as a relieved sigh. "Ryan doesn't live with me anymore. He's moved in with his girlfriend." What he really meant to say: _What the hell are you doing here. Get out before someone recognises you._

"I was waiting for you, actually."

James looks around him nervously. It's one thing when Nadia drops unannounced in their younger days as cadets, but it's another thing _now_. He closes the distance between them, lowering his voice. "Is something wrong?"

Nadia shakes her head, her eyes downcast. "I don't have long, my portal back to Altea is in an hour. But..." She briefly, but deliberately runs her hand over her left eyebrow, as if pushing back her hair. His muscles tense again. Someone is watching them.

James sucks in a deep breath, walking past her to open his apartment door. "You have to go. Now" He doesn't want her to, but they can’t afford to be seen together. She knows this. Their pact puts them both in a vulnerable position. Nadia's continued silence makes him turn around. For the first time ever, in the decade he’s known her, she looks nervously at him. “Nads?”

“She’ll... be okay, right?” Her eyes are wide and scared. It's not the first time she's done this and he's not much different. It's hard not to seek her out when he's doubting his choices. She'd come to him the night she resigned the Garrison Forces, frightened out of her mind of what she'd done. “It doesn’t feel right...leaving her on her own again.”

But this time, it's different. They - alongside Shiro and Allura - have agreed to be part of a special mission. They have a plan and a limited set of communications that can't be traceable. Coded by their brilliant mutual friend, of course. A meeting like this may jeopardise everything they’ve worked for.

It is for that reason, the direct question throws him off and it almost makes him wonder if it's really her. Recent events can't help but make him paranoid. He pushes back her hood and it doesn't take her long to understand what he's trying to do. She discreetly tilts her head, flashing the small, faint scar to the side of her neck. It really is her.

“Yeah, she’ll be okay,” he rests his hand firmly on her shoulder. Her hand reaches up to rest over his, but drops a few seconds later. For a brief moment, they were their teenage selves again. Best friends and cadets. “She has us.” With a reluctant sigh, he shakes his head and admits, “and Lance.”

The worried curves to her brows ease and Nadia manages a soft smile. She had been hoping Lance would earn his trust. She leans forward to kiss his cheek and makes to leave, but James grabs her hand before she can turn. Her eyes meet his in confusion and there's even a slight warning in her gaze. They can't be seen as close allies, but right this moment, he doesn't care.

"You still have me."

It's clear to him that she's as shaken as he is. The attack has thrown them off completely. He's already - and currently still is - beating himself up for not fighting the change in ground team's roster harder. But he's not shaken in his resolve, and he's sure Nadia isn't either.

The rare moment of vulnerability makes her blink in surprise, but a wider grin quickly fills her face. It's a familiar expression that soothes his frazzled nerves and it makes him wish for a simpler time where they didn't have to tiptoe around each other like this.

"I still wanna throw you off a cliff, but I'm glad."

The rebuke makes him smile. It's welcome; it reminds him of the old days.

"Goodnight, Riz."

"Night Griff."

* * *

Pidge looks at him patiently, pouring herself a drink. He's technically off the clock, but he's too on edge to relax now. He stops her hand before it could pour over his glass. Her eyes meet his and he gulps, thinking of his first night in her apartment. How she’s so easily ensnared him to her world and, as Griffin had correctly identified, makes him weak to her every want.

“You and Griffin…” he shakes his head, unable to string together the words to his question. “Explain.” Lance holds his breath, awaiting her reply. He hears her soft sigh and looks up to see her press her fingers to her temple.

"We used to be... a thing. Very briefly."

Lance tries his hardest to freeze his features but a soft “oh” escapes his lips. She bites her lip, a crease between her brows as though she is in deep thought.

"If you can call it that. He was my first bodyguard. I was surprised to see him. I knew him as much as I knew you. I didn't think he'd be the type who'd be into me and... it just sort of happened." Her cheeks flush and Lance wonders why it makes him bristle. "But it didn’t take long before he thought it was inappropriate...and resigned. That’s how he broke up with me. He's... I guess you can say he's righteous to a fault."

The obvious pain in her voice makes him remind himself to sock Griffin in the face the next time he sees him. Break up through resignation; he’s more than sure there’s nothing righteous about that. He opens his mouth, to reassure her, he thinks, but nothing comes out.

How else does a guy ask if he’s just a lay to her?

"So, if you must know, he resigned because of that. Not because I was too... 'difficult' or whatever other nice things they're saying about me."

"So... the other thirteen?"

Pidge shrugs and there's the smallest hint of a smile. "Oh, I can be a real bitch sometimes."

Lance laughs and pulls a stool and seats himself across her. Pidge shifts and walks behind the counter to open the fridge.

“But in all seriousness...I found out that _they_...didn’t have my best interests in mind. In some form.”

“Elaborate?” He perks up in interest as she pulls out a pot.

“What are you in the mood for? Nadia left some of her famous lamb stew."

"Pidge," his voice held a gentle warning tone.

"I'll tell you! Gosh, I'm just starving here."

Lance watches her set the pot on the stove, fumbling with the knobs. The shakiness in her hands hasn’t escaped his notice at all. 

“Pidge-” 

"I think I’ll go take a shower first-" 

Lance grabs her hand and pulls her towards him. It's not his intention to, but he's not complaining when her body becomes sandwiched between his thighs. Pidge's cheeks cannot get redder than this. He searches her eyes, looking for a reason why she's being so guarded now - with him.

"I'll join you."

Pidge doesn’t fight him when he leads her to her room, helping her out of her clothes. Pidge’s hands tremble as she attempts unbuttoning his shirt, and he stops her with his hand over hers, nodding towards her ensuite. 

Lance circles her apartment first, even knowing a full sweep had been conducted by ground. He secured the windows, double-checked the reinforcements Pidge had set up and locked his firearm away in Pidge’s safe. 

When he finally joins her in the shower, he finds her huddled to the corner, sobbing into her hands as the water rained on her head. The dreaded ring on the base of her neck is still there, but there’s no raw skin now and the previous angry redness has faded to a faint pink. His own frustration, however, hasn’t faded the slightest. 

He gently touches her bare shoulder, careful not to startle her. The look on her face when she turns to see him breaks him and he envelopes her in his arms, holding her tight. He longs for her moments of vulnerability, but never like this. This makes him only want to hunt down the ones responsible. He brushes her hair and rubs soothing circles on her back as her sobs subside against his chest. He’s only grateful she’s living and breathing, right here in his arms.

Pidge’s touches grow bold and her lips crash to his. He regains his composure enough to pull away. “Pidge...you’ve had a rough day.” He doesn’t exactly want to refuse her, not when her hand’s already priming him and his body betrays his rational mind.

“Please…” Pidge looks up at him with those eyes of hers. It’s unfair; she knows what it does to him. “I need you.” 

Of course, he acquiesces. 

* * *

“I know you’re awake,” Lance chuckles as he hears a groan against his bare chest. He pulls himself up, resting her body back against the bed despite her protests. He presses a soft kiss on her shoulder and hovers over her body. 

Her eyes refuse to open. It’s six a.m., he’s usually at the pool or the gym at this hour. He presses more kisses down the curve of her shoulder, up until he stops over her pulse on her neck. The dull throb - quicker than usual - is something he finds himself seeking out now. There’s almost a paranoid slant to the habit. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our conversation last night, missy.” 

The trembling has long stopped and she’s had a long, restful sleep. The soft snoring - something he finds _incredibly_ adorable - he woke up to attested to that.

“If you get back down here and heat my sheets, I’ll tell you whatever you want.” 

Lance lets his body fall on top of her, laughing at her squeal as she attempts wriggling under him. He finally shifts to the side, gathering her in his arms and locking her securely against his chest. 

“Comfy?”

Pidge snuggles close and sighs in contentment. “Very.” 

“So.”

“So…” Pidge lifts her head to give him a lazy smile. “I forgot your question.”

Lance gives a mock exasperated sigh as Pidge giggles. It’s a wonderful sound to hear, after what she’s been through. 

“I think you need to know more about me...and my family first.” 

“Sure,” Lance fixes his gaze on her, giving her his full attention. 

“It’s going to be a long story.”

“We have time,” he presses a kiss to her brow. “Ina and Ryan aren’t due for another three hours.”

Pidge licks her lips, swollen with his treatment of it the night before. For a minute, she sits quietly, as if organising her thoughts. 

“Well,” she begins with a heavy sigh. “I’m sure you know my parents worked for the Garrison once. They were researchers. Dad started out in defense technology. Shields that can withstand alien lasers… protective space suits. Stuff like that.” 

Lance nods. The suit he wore on the mission that got him demoted definitely played a part in keeping him from being roasted to crisp. 

“Obviously, he was good at his job. Too good, even. Scientists from all over the galaxy came to the Garrison just to work with him. You can imagine how lucrative it is and the kind of allies and resources the Garrison was getting. Unparalleled.” Pidge stops for a moment, her brow furrowing. “That’s when...they started demanding weapons. Dad never really wanted to go into any of that, but they threatened to cut his funding and blacklist him from all research facilities. Matt was just born then, so he had a young family to think of.”

Lance’s brows rise. He didn’t think there was such a longstanding history.

“Mom didn’t want him to give in to them, but then her own research funding got mysteriously cut and soon, she was out of a job too. No one would hire her; nevermind that she was a leading figure in medicinal botany and pharmaceuticals. They were giving them a warning of what’s to come to him.” 

Whatever jealousy Lance had over James vanished in that moment. Pidge didn’t have to finish her story for him to know what they were dealing with.

“That’s when Dad caved in, but only on the condition that he had full control over the projects. But then, a few years later, Dad met the Olkari. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.” She waits for him to nod before continuing, her finger drawing aimless patterns on his skin as she speaks. “They gave him the freedom he desperately needed. He didn’t want to be their puppet anymore, making weapons he didn’t want any part in. He cut off all ties and built the Institute with them. You can imagine what happened next.”

“The ‘accident’?” Lance asks gently.

Pidge looks down and he knows she's doing everything in her power to cry. “No, that doesn’t happen till much later. At first, they put up with it. The Institute became really successful. But… a whole decade later, Dad found out that they'd sent spies to his facility. They’d been feeding off his experimental data and reverse-engineering weapons on their own. Mom and him were on their way to the Intergalactic Council to report them but then…that happened.” Lance feels moisture on his chest and he pulls her closer. 

“Matt was just twenty then, and I was just getting used to the Garrison as a cadet. The Garrison didn’t give a fuck. They acquired the Institute the day we buried them.”

Lance pales. “Oh _quiznack_.” 

“The Olkari and even the Alteans knew what was up, but they couldn’t prove it. They wanted to leave, but the Garrison threatened to sell their technology. Most of the Earth-based scientists left but the few left were forced to work at the Garrison.” 

“Jeez. I didn’t know they operated like the mafia,” Lance grumbled, threading his fingers through her hair. “How did Matt take it?” 

“The Garrison wanted Matt to join them. They really tried to tell us our parents died because of an engine failure, but we _knew_ it was them. Matt refused and then...he was next. They tried to frame the Olkari and even... _me_. As if I gave a fuck about our parents’ inheritance enough to kill my own brother. I’d give away all our money in a millisecond if I could have Matt back.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say to her, still in a stunned silence. There’s nothing he can say that can give her comfort. A burning anger rages within him; anger for her slain family, for treating her as nothing more but an asset to exploit.

“Is that why you work for them?” he whispered. “Because you’re scared of what they’ll do to you?”

Pidge shakes her head. “Honestly...at that time, I didn’t care if I died. I knew they needed me alive and they _thought_ I’d be too scared to defy them.” He chuckles as she smirks. “I pretended to be really bad at designing weapons. Like I’d design tiny fuses that melt the laser igniters in guns if they reached lethal levels.” 

“Your family would have been proud,” he affirms it with a kiss to her forehead. “I know I am right now.” 

“I wish there’s a happy ending to this story Lance,” Pidge looks up with a reposeful look in her eyes. “They figured out pretty quickly what I was doing, so they invented this threat to scare me. That some… random aliens wanted my head because of old beef with my Dad. They used that excuse to plant spies…”

“Bodyguards,” Lance gasps, a sense of nausea overcoming him. His thoughts go to his meeting with Sanda, and the inevitable others that will follow. The very idea of being ordered to kill her sends chills down his spine. 

“I suspect they knew, somehow, that I had a crush on you. It’s probably why you’re here. To _seduce_ precious information out of me. Maybe, one fine day...kill me.”

"Pidge, that will never happen," Lance reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. "But...you had a crush on me?- OW!" He rubs his bicep gingerly, looking at her a grin. 

"As I was saying," Pidge continues, a bright pink flush on her cheeks. “James...he was the first one to figure it out. Once I started allying with the Alteans, they knew it was going to be a repeat of what my Dad did. They sent James then. He was my first guard and when they pressured him to leak information about my projects, he broke up with me and said he resigned for that reason. He's been making sure I know which guards were spies and I'd be a nightmarish to the point of driving them crazy so they’ll resign.” 

Lance rests his back against the bed, exhaling heavily. Now, _everything_ made complete sense. He couldn't help but feel a little childish jealousy that Griffin had been noble enough to pull something like that off. 

“So...to _finally_ answer your question, that’s the deal with me and James. I’m grateful to him, of course… I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

“Are you sure they don’t know that you’re forcing your guards to resign?”

“Well, I’ve always been a brat to them, so I think they expect it.” Pidge smiles lazily. 

Lance takes a moment to digest everything. He stares at the ceiling in awe, his head swimming with many thoughts. He couldn’t imagine a life like hers; having to live constantly in fear. She is so much more than a Garrison puppet.

“I...I don’t know how you handle this,” he mumbles. “My family is everything to me. I can’t ever imagine having to live on without them.” 

“I still have family…” Pidge counters. “Nadia. She quit as soon as she found out from James about what was happening. She’s like a sister to me. James too, even if we’re broken up.”

“He’s a sister to you?” He chuckles as Pidge gives him a playful punch. “Are you… still in love with him?”

Pidge blushes. “What do I know about love…” She rests her cheek over his heart, tracing over his scars lightly. “I'll admit it felt more like a schoolgirl crush. We had moments where we would almost… y'know. But he'd always pull away before things got too heated. I just wish he’d given me a warning before he broke up with me. He left me wondering what happened for a long time… Nadia was the one to fill me in much later.”

“He was probably put in a spot,” he can’t believe he’s defending James-freakin-Griffin right now, but he’s formed something of begrudging respect for the man. “I’m willing to bet he put your safety above everything else.” 

“With time, I don’t doubt it,” Pidge whispers, looking wistful. “And now...I have you.”

The soft look she gives him and the way her hand goes up to caress his cheek makes him melt in an _instant_. No one has ever given him a look like this; as if he’s their hero. Desire floods his body and in seconds, he’s kissing her again. His hand eases her thighs apart as he pushes himself upright.

“H-hey! Now you have to tell me what got you demoted.” 

“I’ll tell you,” Lance winked. “After I had my breakfast.”

Pidge covers her face in embarrassment, gasping as he starts laying soft kisses up her belly.

"Y’know, I used to think you hated me,” his tone is teasing, but he is telling the truth. He moves up to press kisses down her jawline to her neck, murmuring against her skin. “I thought you were resistant to my charms.” 

“Oh, but I am,” Pidge giggles, pulling away only for a second when he hits a particularly ticklish spot. "I don't like you when you're a flirt," she admits, lifting her head to press kisses over his scars. "I like you when you carry me home.” A kiss to the corner of his lips. "When you punch creeps for scared little girls,” Another featherlight kiss to his lips as her fingers trail over his broad shoulders. “I like you when you’re truly you.”

He ravishes her with another bruising kiss, a hand slipping under the sheets. She’s saying everything he wants to hear. 

Pidge moans and grasps his shoulders, a hand touching his cheek again. He turns his head to press a kiss to her wrist, looking at her with what he’s sure now, is more than mere infatuation.

“Lance…” Pidge’s fingers thread through his hair, gasping as his fingers find a sweet spot. “Promise me…”

He leans forward to nuzzle his cheek against hers. “Tell me.” 

“Promise me you won't leave me.”

The question makes him pause, but it doesn’t take him too long to answer. He seals the promise with a kiss.

“Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and screams always appreciated! <3


End file.
